


Choices

by AmericanCorvus



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 58
Words: 314,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmericanCorvus/pseuds/AmericanCorvus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an alternate universe where Fenris didn't succeed in escaping Danarius and the events of the game play out without him. The real story begins some two decades later in Seheron but soon encompasses the known world as a Qunari invasion looms large.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Fenris!”

She put every ounce of command she could into that one word when authority was quite possibly the last thing she felt at the sight of the marked elf, sword rising and tattoos beginning to glow with his own particular brand of battle rage. It must have worked because the slave paused just enough that she was able to plead for her life, ironically enough in the same hardened tone.

“Danarius is dead! For whom are you fighting?”

It worked. Swallowing a sigh of relief she watched him freeze, his grim rage faltering as his eyes ticked from her to the prone form of his master and a myriad of things flash across his usually inscrutable face, all far too fast for her to read. At the realization her words are indeed true, proofed by the slow trickle of blood that was beginning to pool next to where the man lay on his gaudy, expensive rug and the lifeless stare of the Magister’s eyes,  his face went amazingly blank. Dropping his enormous longsword to the floor with a clatter that made her wince, he fell to his knees and curled into a position of prone acquiescence with his forehead almost touching the floor. This reaction unnerved her as much as his raised sword but the lyrium under his skin still flared albeit much duller than before, giving away that Danarius’s bodyguard was far from calm. Her time in Danarius’s household had taught her one thing - this particular slave was not entirely tame. But Danarius had seemed to enjoy it that way. Proof of that was the solid and heavy golden collar that encircled the long almost delicate throat of the elf, held there with blood magic and ready to accept any manner of chain that Danarius decided appropriate.

Sighing she regarded the prone elf, her own inner thoughts chaotic. In a sane world she would turn and leave by the quietest route open to her, her task here was completed the moment Danarius’s heart had stopped beating. But if her time in Kirkwall had done nothing else it had instilled in her a cynical belief that the Maker had a very sick sense of humor and that this was far from a sane world.

 In truth part of her wanted nothing more than to be done with this, to flee to the rainforests of Seheron to the comfort and companionship of the Fog Warriors and wash the corruption of this place off her. But that same base vice she had witnessed caused her to pause over the prone form of this one slave. She knew only too well what would be in store for him. His lyrium markings made him far too valuable to destroy but his inability to protect Danarius when it most counted would brand him further still though those marks wouldn’t be visible. And knowing exactly who was set to inherit Danarius’s vast wealth should she prove capable of holding it when the inevitable infighting began, she also knew that this man’s life would know even more misery than he had under Danarius’s hand. She would thank him for his failure but it wouldn’t stop her from making him pay for it.

Doing the math in her head she realized that she had been here in capital city of Tevinter for almost a year now while waiting for the perfect time to complete her commission. The job of secretary that had been secured for her gave her access, but Fenris was a complication that had prolonged this little charade. Her friends had thought her suicidal for doing it and maybe in a way they were right. After everything that had happened maybe she had wanted to die somewhere down deep in her darkest places. But after all that time she had come to grudgingly respect this odd slave and bodyguard of Danarius’s. For all the cruelty she had witnessed directed at him he had gone about his own commission to protect the life of his master with grim determination and his vigilance had not made this moment easy to achieve. She had thought at the beginning to bribe him with his freedom but it had not taken her long to realize that this would not work bound as he was to Danarius. She hated to admit it, hated that she felt compelled to pause and consider the fate of this man, but something deep inside her forced her to do it all the same.

Sighing loudly this time, she stepped forward and commanded quietly, “Stand.” Maddeningly he did not but she did see a tremor run the length of his spine at the sound of her voice.  Anger started to boil in the pit of her stomach, a reaction she knew to the stress of the whole situation more than with him but she used it, putting it into her voice when she repeated, “Fenris, I told you to stand. Do not push my patience.”

That worked. Slowly he unfolded, standing before her with that oddly blank look to his face and eyes that she didn’t trust with his brands still glowing dully. He was refusing to look at her, eyes cast downward and to the side, looking she knew at Danarius. Cocking her head she studied him, her eyes taking in the lines, angles and curves of his face before falling to the collar that she knew had held him to his master’s whim, never allowing him to wander too far. Sniffing thoughtfully she looked at it closely, seeing markings engraved into the gold as she circled him studying the blood magic that held the solid metal together. ‘Ah-ha, gotcha,’ she thought smiling to herself before she shot a hard look at the white haired elf.

“Do not move; do not _breathe_ unless I tell you to.”

Waiting until he nodded, his throat working wordlessly, she turned her eye back to the collar as she pulled a small dagger out of a sheath hidden under the loose robes that marked mages in Tevinter, her mind already turned to the task before her.

Fenris flinched slightly at the sight of the weapon but did not move further, instead watching carefully the woman who was now ignoring him as she studied the hated collar around his neck. He was a slave and she a mage, he knew that his life was her’s to do with as she should so choose. Looking down at the top of her head as she leaned in to look closer at the collar he dully wondered what she was about. When she loosed a victorious and satisfied sound he was so unprepared that he involuntarily jerked back from her. That was when he saw the blood on her hand where she had deliberately cut her palm, that was when he felt the crispness of magic as it made his lyrium burn and itch and most importantly that was when he heard the sharp crack that had him flinching back yet again. He stared blankly at the collar as it lay against the black marble tile, once again whole and gleaming with its own malicious intent before turning his eyes back on the woman that had freed him of it. She was busy shedding her purple robe, revealing she wore reinforced leather armor and breeches beneath and taking the knife to the hem to cut a temporary bandage from it.

Trying to appear unconcerned about the slave’s reaction when nothing could be farther from the truth with his markings now glowing bright silvery blue after his start, she wrapped the cloth she had freed from the robe around her hand several times before tucking the end in and replacing the blade in a hidden sheath on her vambrace. She could have easily healed herself but didn’t see the point. Out of the corner of her eye she watched carefully as Fenris froze in place, nothing moving but his eyes as he tried to take in the kindness that she had done. Once again calling on her reserves of authority though it felt wrong to be commanding this man she casually and without looking at him ordered, “I want you to gather whatever it is you wish to take with you. Do it fast because we must be well gone from here before what I have done is discovered.” When he stood still frozen and trying to comprehend she let the anger that had been festering in the pit of her stomach loose on him again, snarling haughtily, “I said _move_ dammit!”

When he still didn’t move she began to reconsider her hasty plan but before she could say anything else his head dropped and in a low voice replied, “I am a slave, I have nothing.”

Shaking her head she bent to retrieve his forgotten sword, marveling at how Maker-Be-Damned heavy it was and thrust it at him.

“I didn’t say what _belonged_ to you I said whatever you _wish_ to take. Some things don’t count where they came from, it’s the use you put them to that matters.” She paused to look at him a moment before throwing an exasperated look at the still glowing markings. “And Maker’s breath will you control yourself? How do you expect to get past the guards glowing like firefly?”

Fenris did not know what a ‘firefly’ was, nor did he take the sword, instead looking at this woman through the curtain of his bangs and refusing to acknowledge the dim light of hope that that flared in his chest. “You intend to take me?  Why? I failed.”

Cocking her head at him she suddenly understood. He was expecting her to kill him; maybe even wishing for it for all that she could read of his expressions. Snorting derisively she once again pushed the sword at him, “You didn’t fail you were bested. There is a difference and there is no shame in it.” Noticing that the muscles in her arm were beginning to tremble under the weight of the weapon she snapped, “Take this thing before one of us ends up losing a toe.”

Reflexively he took the weapon but otherwise did not move, still regarding her through his hair and trying to decide what to do. His master, no his world hated as they both were lay dead, his own life and the lives of all Danarius’s slaves were now forfeit. It was not unusual for the slaves to all be killed whenever there was a change in power. His own fate he knew would not be the sword unless this woman did it. No death would be a relief. Danarius had no family so his fortunes would fall to his one apprentice and Fenris had no doubt that under her kind touches he would wish that this woman had killed him. As if reading his own thoughts the woman sighed impatiently with him.

“Do I need remind you who will be your new Mistress if you remain?”

With a quick shake of his scruffy head he turned and disappeared through a door she knew lead to what was laughingly considered his room. A closet really that barely held a chest and a rough nest of hay and threadbare blankets that he slept on. Glancing after him, satisfied that he was finally doing as he was told she went to the door, pushing it open enough to reassure herself that no one outside Danarius’s chambers had heard anything and to retrieve a satchel she had stowed behind one of the huge old god statues that flanked the doors. Back inside she pulled a fine example of the long flowing cloaks that were preferred by the Magisters of the Imperium out of the pack and tossed it unceremoniously across a high-backed chair. Turning from that to one of the huge wardrobes that lined one wall of the room she yanked it open and began hunting for something similar to hide the elf. Several minutes and several wardrobes later she found one that would work and turned to see Fenris watching as she pilfered Danarius’s things. Blinking furiously as she took him in, she was truly amazed at the change.

Fenris regarded her a moment before explaining in a quiet, neutral voice, “The armor Danarius had made for me when we went to Seheron to fight. He wanted nothing untoward to happen to his favorite… pet.”

Noting the tinge of bitterness that sneaked into that last word as she strode to him and inspecting the black and form fitting armor with a jaundiced eye, she had to admit it suited him better than the tunics that he wore while in the household.  He seemed taller, back straight under the weight of the armor. Looking up she was surprised to see him staring back, finally willing to meet her eye directly and blinked at the tinge of defiance she saw there at her inspection.  Cocking her head she couldn’t help but feel just a little triumphant that she had finally gotten even that much out of this inscrutable elf. Twisting her mouth wryly she turned to grab the cloak and toss it at him.

“Well you now qualify as the best dressed ‘pet’ I’ve ever seen then. Wish that my armor was as nice.”

Fenris’s eyebrow rose silently as he inspected her own armor, seeing nothing wrong with it except that it was far too light which was not at all to his liking but kept his thoughts to himself as he shrugged into the cloak she had unceremoniously thrown at him. She was busy pilfering through the rest of Danarius’s things, looking for any small valuables that could be sold and ignoring him completely.  Glancing down at the clawed gauntlets now covering his hands he lost himself in thought, contemplating this entire situation. Not that Danarius was dead as much as her actions since. He had no frame of reference for what was happening and her motives had been a mystery to him until it occurred to him as he worked to calm his inner turmoil and don the expensive and showy armor that undoubtedly her motives were profit. He was no fool, his markings made him valuable. He had seen the envy in the eyes of the Magisters that came to attend to their connections with Danarius, a powerful man in the senate. Although the thought of being sold to who knows who caused a knot in the pit of his stomach, the sure knowledge that he had worked out the motives of this woman had soothed the boiling emotions and calmed the lyrium under his skin.

“Ready?”

Snapping out of his reverie Fenris nodded once and pulled his hood over his head, hiding more than his pointed ears and white hair in the shadows thrown over his face, it also hid the lingering resentment he felt at knowing he had no choice.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hawke, I’m not trying to tell you how to go about things but,” Varric shot a slightly dubious eye at the strange elf sitting leaning against some of the lashed crates on the deck, eyes closed and looking for all the world like he was asleep. “Why?”

Varric studied his old friend with a jaundiced eye. She had lost weight and it made her cheekbones sharper. That added to the dark circles from lack of sleep because she had been forced to high-tail it up the coast to get distance between her and Minrathous before Danarius’s death was discovered were doing her no favors. He hadn’t said anything when she had turned up at the prearranged meeting spot along a section of coast that was a favorite of anyone not wishing to be seen on Tevinter soil because of its seclusion with the elf in tow, but now that they were safely out to sea he decided she had some explaining to do.

“I couldn’t leave him,” Hawke replied simply, like that explained everything. She regarded the dwarf, knowing full well that wasn’t going to satisfy him.

“Why in Maker’s name not? From what you told us he could be dangerous and it’s not like you have a pressing need for a bodyguard.” Varric screwed his face into a look of mock thoughtfulness and laid a finger to his chin. “Or maybe you had it in your mind to make him your pleasure slave. I’m guessing that most women would find that tall broody thing attractive. I’m sure he’s a laugh a minute.”

Hawke pulled a face, struggling to put into words what she herself didn’t fully understand. Finally she threw up her hands.

“I don’t know Varric, respect maybe? That man made my job so hard I wanted to start breaking things. And he’s a _slave_! You would think if anyone had an interest in seeing Danarius dead it would be him. I don’t know if it was Danarius that did it or not but someone has trained that man and trained him well! Then he goes and does that… that… lyrium thing and makes him that much more powerful. He could have killed everyone in that building _including_ Danarius and not even broke a sweat, but does he do this I ask you? No, he puts himself in harm’s way again and again to protect the man that did that to him. That and a damn sight more I’m sure.”

Waving a hand in frustration because she knew she was babbling and not saying it right, she started to stalk off, then thinking aloud she turned on her heal and came back.

“And that lyrium thing? We don’t really want to go there do we?” She paused there as if she really didn’t, then shook her head at Varric’s studiously neutral expression and plowed right on down the road she was trailblazing. “You’re a dwarf, you understand the stuff I know. You know how dangerous it is, what it can do to even you dwarves if you aren’t careful. And Danarius forced that stuff _under his skin_! I don’t want to even consider what goes into _doing_ something like that! I don’t want to consider what it takes to _survive_ that! I surely don’t want to stop and think what it’s been like for him! Varric I’m a mage and every time I look at him I have this incredible need to apologize, which I am sure he would just hate so I just bite my tongue until all I can taste is blood.”

Varric stood quietly while Hawke poured all the stuff she had been thinking for the last few days as she and Fenris traveled quietly to meet up with Isabella’s ship to get them out of Tevinter. She hadn’t allowed herself to consider any of these things before because she had been too wound up trying to figure out how to get around the man but now that it was over and she found herself responsible for him she had no choice. Glancing at the elf as she argued her cause the dwarf caught a twitch and knew that the elf was awake and listening. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he cocked an eyebrow as he turned his attention back to Hawke.

“So it was pity?”

“Yes!” Hawke pulled up short considering that a moment, “No! No I don’t pity him, it’s not that. Any mage with any brains and an ounce of humanity would feel horrible for what was done to him, but no it’s not pity. Maybe sympathy and _yes_ ,”shesnapped, “I get that’s a fine distinction. I unfortunately have very good imagination and it makes my skin itch just thinking about it and not just the lyrium thing, all of it. You remember the slavers we broke up, the ones preying on all the Ferelden immigrants? Well now I’ve seen the other end of it.” Burying her face in her hands Hawke groaned in exasperation, just knowing she wasn’t making sense. She was just too damn tired for his. She almost started to walk off again, even went so far as to turn before something else came to her. “And then there is that bitch.”

“What bitch?” Varric was actually starting to warm to this sordid little tale that Hawke was _almost_ telling him -holes and plot twists galore! This he could work with!

“Hadriana, Danarius’s apprentice.” Hawke shuddered just considering what that woman was capable of. “You can’t even call her a viper. Vipers look you face on and then strike. Danarius, _he_ was a viper. That woman is more like those big snakes that hang out of trees in Seheron. They drop down in ambush and wrap around, slowly squeezing the life right out of you. _That_ is Hadriana.”

“Okay call me slow but what has she to do with us ending up with a possibly dangerous elven slave?”

“Danarius had no heirs so by Tevinter law she would inherit everything, including him. I spoke with her as little as possible because she made my hair stand on end. I’ve never seen anyone with eyes that dead. But one evening at one of Danarius’s little dinner parties she was a little drunk and bragging to one of the other apprentices about how she… how was it she put it? How she ‘toyed’ with Fenris whenever Danarius wasn’t looking. I shudder to think what _that_ might mean, especially from her. I didn’t ask her and I’m surely not asking him but the look she had in her eye just makes me feel it wasn’t… that it had… oh Maker I just do not want to go there! I just don’t!” Stopping to take a breath she pointed an accusatory finger at the dwarf. “And you can’t make me!”

Varric threw his best innocent look, slapping a hand to his bare chest and protesting, “I would never…”

“Oh bullshit, yes you would,” Hawke had to smile looking at the melodramatic pose and guileless expression. “Don’t even lie about it either.” Pausing she shot him a scathing look. “Pleasure slave?”

Chuckling quietly the beardless dwarf dropped the act before shooting a look that would pin you to the wall as sure as one of Bianca’s bolts.

“That why you tore into Isabella for being… well… Isabella?”

“I don’t know. Probably.” Hawke sighed and hung her head. “Yes. I’m going to have to make that right. But he doesn’t know that I plan on turning him loose yet so in his head he’s still a slave. That doesn’t give him much room to protest or better still tell the world’s most forward pirate to shove off.”

“Privateer Hawke, privateer. Well be sure you do make things right. Isabella was actually quite excited to be seeing you again and you just about ripped her face off for playing with your… umm… elf. You might want to go see if there is any rum down in the hold.” Nodding to no one in particular, her head still hung with no small amount of shame at what she had done, Hawke followed Varric into the bowels of the ship to hunt down a peace offering for her friend. She didn’t notice when Varric looked around her to where the elf still sat, still looking for all the world like he was asleep and smirked, wondering where this little scene might lead them. “We can sort the possibly dangerous, definitely broody and soon to be former slave later.”

When they were gone, Fenris cracked open his eyes and turned them up into the night, taking in a sky littered with stars as he contemplated what he had just overheard.


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke stumbled over her own feet as she made her way to the deck, the sun so bright it caught her off guard and seared straight through her eyes to the back of her head. Holding up a hand to shade them she cursed Fenris for being handsome, Isabella for being so… Isabella, and herself for feeling she needed to protect the former from the later. Most of all she cursed rum. She could drink almost anything else and keep her wits about her but a sniff of rum and the whole thing becomes… incomplete? No that wasn’t it. Fractured? Incoherent? Whatever the word you put on it, it also meant a screaming hangover the next morning which was something Hawke could definitely do without when she only vaguely had sea-legs to begin with.  Only Isabella would _want_ to drink that loathsome stuff. When the deck suddenly sank under her feet causing an already tender head to scream ‘vertigo,’ she lurched around the door she had been clinging to in order to get her bearings and threw herself across the deck to latch onto the rail. Tossing her head over she then promptly emptied whatever was left in her stomach into the sea. With that small feat accomplished plus some uncomfortably dry heaves for good measure, Hawke decided that this was where she was going to die and laid her forehead against the rail and cursed aloud the vileness of rum again.

“Then perhaps you should not drink it.”

Groaning aloud because the person attached to that voice was possibly the last one she really wanted to see at the moment, she refused to lift her head or even open an eye. Why did Isabella have to have such a small ship?

“I _don’t_ drink it, that’s the point,” she croaked past a now sore throat. “I hate the stuff, won’t touch it. But that’s what Isabella drinks and when you are trying to apologize…”

“Then maybe you should avoid the need to apologize to her,” Fenris kept his tone light deliberately.

“Stuff it,” was her only response.

Fenris leaned back against the rail, arms folded as he looked down at the woman’s hands, clinging to the railing on either side of her head as if her life depended on it holding her in place, knuckles white with the effort. When she had appeared on deck - hair mussed, eyes squinted and a less than healthy color - his first reaction had been to go to her aid. He’d even stood, unfolding somewhat stiffly from where he had sat the entire night unmoving and contemplating his new circumstances before catching himself. If what he had overheard was to be believed then this woman’s motives were less clear to him than he had first assumed. Watching with practiced dispassion as the motion of the ship drove her to the railing, he decided he wanted some answers and now was probably the best time to get them, while she was off balance and not as likely to fight.

“Doesn’t know that I plan on turning him loose?” He watched as her back stiffened when he repeated her own words back to her in a voice that was deceptively mild. Had she looked up she would have seen that the look in his eye was far from ‘mild’. “So in his head he is still a slave?”

Oh Maker she was not up to this now. Taking a deep breath and making an attempt to order her thoughts she used the railing to stand herself up, gritting her teeth against the pain that squinting through red rimmed eyes at Fenris was going to cause.

“You heard that,” she finally forced out. “How much of our conversation did you…”

When the deck once again fell out from beneath her again she couldn’t find it in herself to finish, deciding it didn’t much matter at the moment what he’d heard or not. Stifling a groan as her now empty stomach lurched, she shook her head.

“Doesn’t matter, don’t care. Yes Fenris, you are free. I have no use for a lot of things in this world, slavery is one.” Turning to lay her head back against the wood rail she began muttering to herself. “Damn elf, why should I care what he thinks.”

Fenris silently concurred with her assessment but was still not sure he believed what he was hearing. Danarius had been well known for using words like weapons, deliberately tripping up people to justify a need to be cruel. He hadn’t just done so with the slaves, he often used the same ploy against other Magisters and his even own apprentice in his paranoid desire to ferret out any disloyalty. Looking down at this mage he had his doubts that she was in any condition… but then again what did he know of her? Really? Thinking to push the boundaries a little to see where they fell, to maybe get an idea of just how cunning this woman might be he turned to face the railing and leaned down to look at her pinched, pale face, her eyes still resolutely shut.

“Just who are you? You are certainly not a simple apostate running from the Mage Rebellion in the Ferelden. Is your name even Grace?”

Hawke lifted her head enough to look at him, a little startled when his harsh voice came so close to her ear.

“Marian. Marian Hawke. And yes, I actually _am_ an apostate running from the Mage Rebellion, just not the one in Ferelden and not straight to the Tevinter Imperium. I have more _sense_ than that.” Sighing, she managed to straighten herself out and looked out over the rolling sea. “Let’s just say that Danarius’s stand on Seheron made enemies of some of my friends and leave it at that for now.”

“Seheron?” Fenris’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You can’t be working for the Qun; they would think consorting with mages a challenge against the teachings of Koslun.” Suddenly it dawned on him and he abruptly stood straight, looking down at Hawke in consternation. “The Fog Warriors? You are working for the Fog Warriors?”

“Well I rather look at it as a ‘with’ not ‘for,’ but yes. It just so happens that the Fog Warriors want what is frankly best for everyone – their homelands back.” Thinking to herself that this elf was by far cleverer than she had originally thought, she looked closely up at him, taken a little aback at the stricken look he had on his face as he stared out to the distance. “Why?”

Fenris found he could not respond to her, a knot of had formed in his throat making breathing hard and words impossible. He swallowed hard several times, trying to knock it out but found he just couldn’t do it. Looking briefly at Hawke, he turned on his heal and left her standing there, leaning against the rail and staring after him a moment before dropping her head back to the railing.

“Possibly dangerous, _definitely_ broody now former elven slaves are a pain in the ass,” she muttered to herself. “And they make no sense either.”


	4. Chapter 4

It didn’t take her long to figure out that Fenris was doing his best to avoid her. Isabella’s ship wasn’t the largest privateer on the Amaranthine but Fenris always managed to be somewhere else. Apparently he was keeping Isabella at bay the same way and it generally offended the Ravaini that he accomplished it so readily on her own ship. Thankfully the trip wasn’t the long and Hawke only had to put up with Isabella’s pouting about the elf for a couple weeks. Varric on the other hand was unaccountably cheerful considering he cared for sea travel significantly less than Hawke. She kept catching him looking at her with an inscrutable expression instead of concentrating on their games of Wicked Grace and by the time they were nearing the end of the journey, the dwarf owed her more than a little coin. Didn’t seem to bother him though, he just kept asking about Minrathous.

Hawke would just scowl and tell him to ask again when it wasn’t so fresh. He would scowl back and inform her that _everything_ was better when it was fresh, to which Isabella would purr and concur.

It wasn’t until the last few days of the journey that Fenris decided to come out of whatever little hole he’d managed to crawl into, surprising Hawke when she decided to go up on deck and stretch her legs a little. She had finally gotten her sea legs after several bouts of seasickness, at least as long as the ocean played by the rules and stayed calm anyway. So she was leaning against the railing, watching the distant coast as they made their way around the island, not particularly thinking about anything when the elf appeared as if out of nowhere next to her. He didn’t say anything, just studied the island for a long time with a completely inscrutable expression. Hawke left him to it, deciding if he wanted something then he would ask.

“It has been a long time since I saw this part of the island,” he finally said in a subdued voice. “Danarius mostly stayed to the east of it.”

“Where most of the Tevinter holding are,” Hawke mused. “Makes sense.”

“Indeed.” Fenris glanced at the mage next to him debating how to ask until finally deciding that since she seemed to be of the direct and to the point mind he just came out with it. “I must ask this, were you serious?”

“About what,” Hawke quipped lightly. “That I hate rum? Most definitely. That you are a pain in the ass? Oh assuredly. That you are a free man as far as I am concerned?” She slid her eyes sideways to look at him as he contemplated the view. “Try and convince me otherwise. Fenris, once this ship lands you are free to go where ever you like.”

Fenris was quiet for a long time, obviously pondering what she’d said. Finally he sighed. “I have nowhere else to go Hawke.”

“Well,” she considered that a moment. “If you want to stay with us, that’s fine. We can always use a good sword arm. On Seheron you have your pick – Tevinters, Qunari or sometimes Tal-Vashoth. Or you can just hang around until you get your bearings. You won’t be the only elf there, or former slave for that matter. We’ve got more than a few floating around.”

“You often free slaves?” he asked quietly.

“When they want to be freed? Yes. There are more than a few occasions when they would rather return to their masters.” Hawke shrugged. “We can’t make them stay. Sometimes they’re just too….”

Fenris chuckled bitterly, the sound making Hawke want to shrink away but she held her ground.

“Indoctrinated?” he spat.

“Well,” she threw a guarded look at the man, “I was going to say damaged, but that works too I guess.”

Fenris nodded his agreement before turning his back to the island to lean against the rail, arms crossed and looking about as approachable as a wild boar. Brow furrowed and black eyebrows drawn together, he gave every outward appearance of being deep in thought so Hawke turned her attention back to the view, not wanting him to think she was staring. He was hard enough to understand without him thinking she was some moon-struck teenager. He was devilishly handsome but she had finally uncomplicated as much of her life as she could, she didn’t need anyone mucking that up now. Snorting softly she mentally shook herself. Sliding her eyes sideways Hawke found herself studying the lyrium strokes and swirls that wrapped his bicep like some vine where his armor left it bare and wondered again at just what that took. Why was something so dangerously poisonous just laying there without killing him or destroying his mind? What in Andraste’s name had Danarius done to this man?

It was just then, with both of them standing inches from each other but miles apart in their thoughts that a sultry cooing brought them both back from their respective corners. Without looking up Hawke knew that Isabella had found them and she was going to determinedly make sport of Fenris.

“Why Hawke! You found our wayward elf!” Isabella laughed lightly as she approached, “Shame on you, your game of hide and seek isn’t much fun if you can’t be found.”

Fenris didn’t reply right away, if anything his scowl got deeper but he didn’t move. Instead he just watched the Ravaini as she stopped and posed herself with the kind of confidence that irritated him. She knew how to show off her assets to their best advantage, he would give her that but little more. Her blatant sexuality just made him uncomfortable.

“It wasn’t a game,” Fenris stated in a low gravelly voice, “I wished to be alone.”

“Well that’s no fun,” Isabella pouted a moment before smiling brightly. “But your here now, all tall broody and spiky.” Before Hawke could say anything because frankly she was still trying to figure out how to save the elf without causing the need for more apologies, Isabella decided to take the initiative as was her want. Casually she reached out to run a hand down the only bare flesh Fenris’s armor afforded, the same bicep that Hawke had been studying. Before her fingers had so much as brushed against him though, Fenris’s gauntleted hand latched over her wrist. Holding Isabella just hard enough that the spiked fingers left indentions without causing any real pain, Fenris leaned over until his nose was a scant inch from Isabella’s. His expression made Hawke shudder and she started to wonder if maybe she was going to need to try and save Isabella instead. Before she could come to a decision he bit out in a voice that brooked no argument, “Do not touch me. I do not like to be touched.”

Isabella blinked a moment but never truly lost her footing. Before Fenris could stop her she leaned forward and planted a loud wet kiss on him. While Fenris reeled back in surprise, releasing her as he did, Isabella smirked at Hawke. Turning on her heal she sauntered away, throwing her parting remark over her shoulder.

“We’ll see about that.”

Fenris glared after her, trying to decide if rubbing off the feel of the offending lips would work or not and muttering under his breath. Hawke couldn’t understand a word but knew Arcanum when she heard it, wondering briefly what he was saying before she tore her still shocked eyes from Isabella’s retreating back to look at him. He had been too surprised that his ploy hadn’t worked to cover up his consternation and the look on his face caused Hawke to chuckle. That drew his attention to her and his scowl deepened.

“I’m sorry Fenris,” Hawke held up both hands in mock surrender and tried to stifle it but with only limited success. “But now you see why I had need to apologize maybe? She is… relentless when she decides to be. But you’re a grown boy and you can handle her I’m sure.”

If anything her teasing made his mood darker and without comment he stalked off, muttering louder as he went. Shaking her head and trying to make herself feel bad about what had just happened without too much success after his own ribbing of her, she glanced up to see Isabella watching Fenris’s retreat. The Ravaini smirked at Hawke and wiggled her shoulders, a move Hawke knew meant she intended to keep this up, even if it got her injured in the process. Fenris it seemed was too entertaining for Isabella to turn away. Sighing and shaking her head, she wondered if Fenris would ever come out of his little hidey-hole now.

As it would turn out he did.

When next she saw him it was late, the deck mostly clear of Isabella’s men and the moon high in the mostly cloudless sky. Hawke found herself once again standing on the deck, knowing that tomorrow she would be ‘home,’ though Seheron would never really feel like home to her and it had her wound tight inside. Varric had been a fount of information, telling her everything he could think of that had gone on in the semi-permanent camp of Jerost, the unofficial leader of all the independent Fog Warrior cells scattered throughout Seheron. But still it felt… odd to be coming back after all this time. Tevinter had been no picnic but it had been nice to have solid walls surrounding her again, instead of canvas tents on wooden platforms raised off the ground to keep things dry in the rainy season. This time it had been her turn to be distracted while playing Wicked Grace, allowing Varric to win back some of the coin he owed her, her broody mood obviously concerning her friend though it didn’t stop him from taking advantage. Finally the game was over and Hawke pleaded weariness to escape Varric’s room and retreat to the deck, hoping that stretching her legs and some fresh air perfumed with the tint of green that floated across the water to the ship would settle her.

Standing staring out over what looked endless, waves gently breaking up the reflected moonlight, she let her thoughts take their own flight, going where they wished even though sometimes where they would go brought her deep pain. This time they didn’t wander down those roads except to visit the memories of Lothering and her childhood. The cool forests surrounding the family farm, one far too small to really produce more than what was needed for their own comfort and maybe enough to trade for anything else they might need, they had this same green smell in the summer. Her childhood had been poor but not the kind of poverty that created want. Days spent working alongside her father and brother, and sometimes her mother though Hawke had much preferred the labor of farming to the softer arts her mother had taught Bethany in the house. Evenings filled with laughter and quiet, comfortable companionship. Nights peaceful and restive, secure in the knowledge that should anything happen in the dark, her father was there to protect them. That was Lothering to her, a place gone forever, destroyed by time and distance as surely as it had been during the Blight. There would never be any going back because Hawke was simply not the same person who had fled to Kirkwall.

The truth of Fenris’s words filled her with a lonely bitterness - she was indeed no ‘simple apostate.’

Looking down at her hands, which unbeknownst to her had begun to clench tight as she leaned against the railing, she slowly opened them, relaxing them and filling her mind with their potential. When a vaguely colorful glow slowly enveloped them both, licking along their lines and angles like watery fire, she watched mutely fascinated as she always was by the look of raw magic before it was turned to her will. So much potential lay right there literally at her fingertips, potential to heal or to harm. That choice was hers and hers alone. In this beauty lay danger, danger that tore at her heart.

“The Magisters would consider that wasteful.”

Hawke started at the mocking voice that shot her sure as any bow, causing the vague color to turn bright crimson before she snuffed it out completely, realizing that she wasn’t as alone as she had thought. Glancing over her shoulder, she still didn’t see him cloaked in the shadows as he was but knew automatically where he was from his voice.

“And Templars a threat,” she retorted mildly. “Tell me something Fenris, what is it you see?”

A little surprised when he stalked boldly out of the shadows into the moonlit night to stare down at her a moment before answering, she returned his gaze with what she hoped was equal confidence. Fenris considered her question, the crisp, electric odor of magic still lingering in the air about her before admitting to his thoughts.

“Both.”

Hawke nodded, thinking she really did feel the same way and turned her attention back out to the blank canvas of the night-lit ocean.

“I can’t speak for any other mage Fenris,” she sighed after a moment. “But I mean you no harm. I don’t wish to ever harm anyone by means of magic. I’ve done too much of that in the past, I will not do it again.”

Fenris let his face go blank to hide what he was thinking. This was an easy vow, convenient here in the safety of her companion’s ship. But what of the time she found herself in danger, _real_ danger. Would she still be as blithe about her abilities as she had been while toying with her connection to the Fade? Or would she accept that magic was in her blood and soul and begin playing with and ultimately killing any friend or foe that stood before her? Would she consent to consort with demons if it meant the difference between survival and death as he had seen so many times? He had seen for himself that she knew blood magic and that made her a target sure as any beacon. It was his experience that no mage accepted fate laid before them if they could in some way shape it to their advantage. Anger began to claw at the pit of his stomach and without warning he was on her.

Surprised by the unprovoked attack Hawke was slow to react when Fenris swung her around but all the training she had received all of her life, from her father, from Varric and even at times Isabella came to her rescue unbidden at the look of bitter determination on his face as his lyrium etched skin began to glow. Her knee shot up smartly, catching him square in the crotch and before the look of pained surprise could even think of crossing his face she caught him with a solid punch to his chin, knocking him further off balance and causing him to release her. In a flash she had put what she hoped was a safe distance between her and the now recovering elf, her eyes sharp and hard as she watched him pull his sword. Painfully aware that the only weapons she had available were a couple throwing daggers that would barely put a dent in the menacing form before her, she backed further away as he spat blood to the deck where her hit had caused his teeth to cut the inside of his lip.

Fenris was angry. She had caught him by surprise with her unexpected physical attack. And he was confused. Why did she stand there, crouched and ready for whatever he might do and no sign of magic about her? Just that hard, alert look in her eye and a dagger clutched in her hand? Shaking himself he charged her, his sword swinging over her head as she ducked and rolled past him. Before he could compensate she rolled to her feet and still crouched braced herself against the deck with one hand and fired a foot out to connect painfully with the back of his knee, causing him to stagger and have to work to keep his grip on his weapon. Before he could recover, she was up and leaping gracefully to the top of a pile of lashed crates, putting herself out of his reach and giving herself the high ground.

“Fenris, what in the name of all that is holy has gotten into you?” she gritted out now that she had some breathing room. “I did nothing!”

Fenris stood looking up at her as more of the crew appeared on the deck, alerted by the night watch as he had known they would be. Pushing his anger down until it laid hidden in its familiar home in the pit of his stomach he slowly replaced his sword in the sheath on his back with a practiced hand, never once taking his eyes off the woman standing above him.

“No,” he growled menacingly, “You did not.”

With that he turned on his heal and walked away, ignoring the assembled men as well as Isabella when she too appeared, demanding to know what was going on. When he disappeared below, Isabella parked her hands on her hips and glared up at Hawke.

“What did you do to the broody, possibly dangerous but absolutely tasty former elven slave?”

Ignoring the petulantly delivered question while she scrambled down the crates to the deck, Hawke stared at the door Fenris had disappeared through, eyebrows knotted and her mouth bowed into a perfectly confused ‘O.’ When Isabella quickly tired of being dismissed she reached out and pinched Hawke’s arm painfully.

“I have no idea,” Hawke finally admitted, rubbing her arm and glaring at her friend.

“Well,” Isabella considered that a moment, “Maybe I should go ask him?”

Hawke looked at the dark skinned woman like she had grown a third eyeball. Only Isabella….

“I wouldn’t suggest it.”

“Maybe your right,” Isabella tapped her lip with one fingernail in exaggerated concern. “We do have a big day tomorrow.” Stopping a moment to reach out and run the same finger across Hawke’s lips she purred in her best sultry voice, “And I’m still hoping you’ll change your mind after all these years.”

Snorting softly because she knew Isabella was teasing Hawke caught the finger between her teeth and bit down before shaking her head.

“Not my type, babe. You don’t have the right equipment.”

“Ew,” Isabella shivered exaggeratedly before turning away, “You are such a tease. And you might be surprised. What was it that Chantry Boy liked to say? Ingenuity is the mother of all invention? I’m nothing if not inventive.” 

Shaking her head at the woman’s brazenness as well as her reference to their former companion Sebastian Vael, Hawke turned to follow. She never saw Varric step out of the shadows of the same crates she had used to separate herself from the angry Tevinter elf. He had followed Hawke out of concern for her state of mind, but after what had just happened he was more concerned for the state of the elf’s. Varric followed after him, having found where in the hold Fenris was hiding days ago and determined that he was going to sort this out. There was a huge difference between presenting yourself as threatening and being a threat. Varric intended to find out exactly which side of the line this one landed. The elf was damn lucky that he had left Bianca in his room.

 Not really bothering to try and be quiet about it, Varric picked his way under, over and around the stacks of barrels and crates in the main hold. At this point he figured why show his hand and let the elf know that he was just about as sneaky as Fenris was himself? Let him wonder how he’d managed to find his hiding spot.

“Varric,” a voice floated to him over the last stack, “I am in no mood.”

“Well elf,” Varric retorted sardonically as he made his way up, wondering how the elf knew it was him, “From what I have seen you have nothing but mood. And we need to have a chat.”

Fenris sighed, knowing there really was no escape from this except through physical means or by phasing through the wall he leaned against. Much like Varric he was unwilling to show more than he had to so he just sat where he had plopped down, one leg drawn up, one arm draped over it and watched the dwarf scramble down the crates.

“What is it you require of me?” he said, mockingly putting a bit of attitude into the phrase he had always used when Danarius had called him. “Because it is late and I would rather try and get some sleep.”

“What I require of you?” Varric snorted as he echoed Fenris’s seemingly relaxed pose by dropping himself to the floor. “The only thing I require is an explanation of what just went on up there. If that sort of trick is going to be an ongoing thing, I might just make arrangements for you to be dropped off the deck.”

Fenris regarded the dwarf in silence before deciding the little man might indeed try it. Shaking his head, he looked at his hand which hung suspended between them. He hadn’t intended to do her harm. He had known that the ships’ watch was standing scant feet away on the other side of the crates and knew that he would muster the crew and alert Isabella. He’d also known that in the time that took, he would have the opportunity to prove to himself and in a way to Hawke that she was a mage, no different from any other in Tevinter, regardless of her views on slavery. But it hadn’t worked, not the way he intended anyway. Shifting uncomfortably from her unexpected shot to his groin, he looked back at the hard faced dwarf with his own eyes hooded.

“Why does she not defend herself?” he finally asked. “She was clearly outmatched, without sufficient weaponry or armor and yet she did not defend herself. Why?”

“Oh-ho,” Varric smirked knowingly. “So that is what this is about is it?”

“It is now,” Fenris growled impatiently, “I would know why.”

“I think she ‘defended’ herself very well thank the Maker.” Varric snorted and waved a hand dismissively before pointing at Fenris. “She used her environment and size to her advantage. You just weren’t expecting a mage to take a pot shot at you is all.”

Fenris sneered a moment, a little angry that the dwarf had the truth of it. He had not expected anything that she had done and it annoyed him.

“She is a mage, not a rogue, not a warrior,” he stated flatly. “Why would she not call on the Fade? Is that not what mages do?”

“Most yes,” Varric nodded thoughtfully. “Most would have brought a rain of fire down on you for daring to raise a weapon to them. At least in Tevinter anyway.”

Fenris nodded curtly before replying, “That is my experience yes.”

Varric leaned forward, looking the elf directly in the eye and though he smiled his eyes were far from amused.

“She’s not from the Imperium. She’s from Seheron, by way of The Free Marches and Ferelden and all points between. Places some of them where magic is frowned on, where Templars would run you through for doing what you tried to provoke. You can’t blame her for practicing restraint.”

Fenris looked down a moment, thinking how little he really knew about this woman he now found himself indebted to for his freedom, whatever that meant. Somehow he knew there was more to this than Varric was saying though.

“She is not on the continent, she is here. On the boat of a trusted companion, surrounded by people who apparently care,” he paused a moment to let that soak in. “She is off the coast of an island hotly contested by multiple factions and where magic is practiced daily. She need not fear reprisals, and there are no Templars here. Why?”

“Oh Ravaini would sew your lips shut like a Qunari mage if she heard you call this a ‘boat’,” Varric chuckled before sitting back and holding up a hand to forestall the tirade he saw on Fenris’s lips. “Yes, I know, off topic. Let’s just say that magic has been at the root of more than a few things that have injured Hawke deeply in the past. She has seen what it can and often does do and wants no part of it. Other than that? This is Hawke’s story to tell, not mine.”

“Are you saying,” Fenris started, gaping madly at the dwarf in disbelief before starting again. “Are trying to tell me that she _won’t_ use magic? Of her own volition she _refuses_ to use magic?”

Varric shrugged before pushing himself up to his feet.

“She will use it to heal, sometimes she’s not above using a protection spell for herself or whoever she is with,” he nodded once before finishing, “But yes, for the most part she will not use magic, even though she knows how.” Varric paused when the elf began cursing under his breath, not even looking at Varric now. “Anyhow, now that we have that out there for everyone to see so that Hawke will probably salt my ale, can I have your word that you are not going to be attacking her again in the near future? Or if you are that you will at least give me a heads up so I can be there to take notes on how she drops your butt on the ground?”

Ignoring the sarcasm Fenris nodded and dismissed the dwarf with a wave of his hand, still a little put out that his attacks were so easily turned. Musing to himself as Varric made his way out of Fenris’s hard won sanctuary, he decided that perhaps in this one thing Danarius had been correct – the easiest blades to turn were those that were off balance to begin with… even his.


	5. Chapter 5

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Hawke murmured in Isabella’s ear as the two women embraced.

“I have appointments to keep,” Isabella returned lightly as they parted, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Hawke’s ear affectionately. “But I will be back. And maybe I’ll bring you a present.”

“No more towels Isabella. I have more than enough towels.”

Isabella smirked as she watched Hawke turn and begin climbing down the netting that hung over the side of the ship to the waiting rowboat below. Fenris and Varric were already there watching the women as they said their goodbyes. Isabella beamed brightly at the elf and waved which he completely ignored in favor of watching Hawke as she gracefully scrambled down to the boat. Isabella cocked an eyebrow at him before calling down to Hawke again.

“Maybe something sleek and sexy for the entertainment of a certain tall, broody elf?”

Her words reached them just as Fenris stood to help Hawke into the boat, his hands planted firmly on her waist as he did. Hawke sighed and dropped her head when Fenris immediately froze, then pulled his hands away the second she had her footing. His face was a study in inscrutability, as it had been since his appearance on deck, lip swollen but apparently none the worse for their confrontation. Not even Isabella had been able to get any reaction out of him this morning. Looking back up she saw Isabella had not retreated and was still leaned over the rail to see how her barb had landed.

“Juuuuust couldn’t resist that could you?” Hawke fired up.

“When have you known me to resist anything?”

“I seem to recall a boatload of slaves, a certain book and oh let me see, sending a certain former boss packing on all counts?”

“Oh all right, shut up.” Isabella stood and disappeared.

Varric chuckled as he watched Hawke park herself next to Fenris and the both of them take up an oar.

“You know Hawke one of these days you are going to have to teach me how you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Put her so soundly in her place,” Varric chuckled again. “How many times did Aveline try? Hmm? But the only people I have ever seen succeed are you and a certain aforementioned Castillon.”

Hawke thought about that a second as she fell into rhythm with Fenris, turning the boat to the beach where a small crowd of people had already gathered to pull boxes and crates from the other boats already lined up on shore.

“She was afraid of Castillon, she just lets me.” Hawke paused thoughtfully before continuing, “I guess even Isabella realizes that everyone needs someone to poke a hole in their ego once in a while. And it doesn’t always work you know.”

Varric waved a disgusted hand at her, not at all convinced that the Ravaini had an ego capable of being poked and let his eye meet Fenris’s. The elf was still inscrutable, a hardened look to his jaw that said he was not happy about something and met Varric’s eye unflinchingly. Varric blinked first and turned his gaze back to shore, wondering about this elf. Most of the slaves that they had in the camp had taken months, sometimes years to get to where they understood that part of freedom was that they didn’t need to worry if what they thought or felt bothered anyone else. That it was okay to be angry or hurt or sad and that no one was going to be more than maybe offended by that. This one didn’t seem to care if what he thought or felt bothered anyone, and it made him think that life as a slave must have been particularly interesting for him. The only reason Varric hadn’t seriously considered having the man dropped off the ship as he’d threatened was that he wasn’t entirely sure it could be done, not now that he was shaking off the trappings of slavery with such determination - even down to challenging the mage that had freed him.

Hawke felt the tension that was palpable in the air. She was just a little wary of Fenris after last night and he was being completely unreadable. Varric was watching the elf out of the corner of his eye which made her wonder what had gone on between them. She knew something had because when she had suggested having a talk with Fenris about what had happened Varric assured her it was taken care of and he didn’t think it would happen again. When she had tried to push for details Varric had pretty much told her to mind her business. _That_ coming from the nosiest dwarf she’d ever met on all of Thedas just irritated her, but she knew Varric well enough to know he kept his secrets and those of others when needed. A slave with secrets… that was intriguing because of what it implied. Shooting a look at Fenris she considered that.

“Nervous?” she finally asked when she realized that she was going to get nothing from his face.

“No.”

Blinking at his curt reply she looked at Varric who simply shrugged and went back to watching the approaching shore. It didn’t take long to reach it, having timed their departure from Isabella’s ship to coincide with the incoming tide. As the boat began bucking under the power of the waves that rose up in the shallows, several of the men on shore raced out to help pull the boat in. Without a thought Hawke joined them, actually enjoying the feel of the warm water that swirled and pulled at her clothes. So wrapped up in what she was doing she never noticed there was a problem until the boat was firmly aground.

Fenris had also leapt in the water so when she dusted her hands off and looked up he was standing just to the other side of the bow of the boat, looking down at a young human woman who had stepped out of the now curiously silent crowd of people watching. Hawke knew her, had worked with her during her rotation making meals and knew her to be a bright, cheerful woman who didn’t have any family and who didn’t like to discuss it. She was staring up at the elf with a look of recognition that quickly turned to disbelief and then just as fast turned to fury. Shaking with the power of her emotion she drew back and slapped Fenris soundly. Getting no reaction from him but his eyes closing she did it again and would have continued had Hawke not caught her hand.

“What,” she blurted in disbelief at what she was seeing, “Has gotten into you?”

“That… that… that _thing_ killed my family!” Hawke’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “He killed everyone! _All_ of them! They were like chickens in a slaughter to him! It was his thanks for taking him in and healing his wounds! For _daring_ to try and defend him when his master came looking for him!” Finally, her anger spent the terrible sadness at what she had witnessed took her and she sobbed. “I only survived because I was a child and did as children do – I hid.”

Several of the women came then, breaking themselves from the stunned group and pulling her away, shooting fearful looks at Fenris, who was still standing with his head bowed and eyes closed. He’d never even flinched when she’d struck him.

“Fenris?”

When he didn’t respond, didn’t even twitch Hawke reached out and hooked his chin, forcing his head up. It wasn’t until later she remembered what he had said to Isabella but even so she wasn’t surprised when his brands flared at her touch. When he didn’t open his eyes, she repeated his name, this time putting some authority behind it. That worked, his eyes slid open and met hers and she could see so many things in them, all swirling in chaos.

“Is this true?” she asked tightly, trying to think past the knot in her own chest. “Did you do this?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Fenris didn’t respond, just stared down into her eyes without trying to hide what he was feeling in his own. Picking what she was seeing apart as fast as she could since she wasn’t getting the answers she wanted from him, she saw regret, sadness, shame, guilt and all them churning and flashing through in turn. She suddenly began to understand his reaction to finding out where she had come from and where they were returning to. She even came to understand a part of why he was so quickly shrugging off his subservience and quite possibly what had been in his head when he had attacked her last night. He had somewhere in that moody head hoped she would kill him and spare him this, and he probably expected that now that he was here he would be killed for his crime.

“Fenris, I asked you why.”

“Danarius ordered me to,” he whispered. “I had no choice.”

Biting her tongue on the retort ‘everyone has a choice’ because she knew that quite possibly in this man’s case it wasn’t true, she let him go and raked her hands through her hair. Still trying to decide how she felt about this little turn of affairs, she looked back at him.

“It didn’t occur to you to tell me about this did it?” She flinched at the harshness of her own voice but continued on. “It never once went through that head of yours that I might understand?”

Fenris didn’t respond except to bow his head again, staring at the sand at his feet. Cursing loudly she looked at Varric who had managed to get free of the boat and now stood just behind Fenris. Shaking his head to tell her he’d had no idea either, Hawke threw up her hands and turned her back on them both, looking instead at the crowd of Fog Warriors who stood staring back. Finally pointing to one she waved him over.

“Warrick,” she asked the tall dark headed elf. “Has anyone gone for Jerost yet?”

When the man nodded mutely she sighed. Pointing to Fenris she quietly asked that Warrick watch him and make sure no one else accosted him if at all possible. She didn’t think Fenris was going to do anything, even to defend himself. Holding out both hands she didn’t even have to ask for his weapon, Fenris surrendered it without even looking up. With a quick jerk of her head to Varric, she turned and headed up the beach, determined that she was going to run this situation off at the pass if at all possible.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hawke…”

“Jerost there are few in the camp that haven’t done horrible things. War _breeds_ horrible things, you know that.”

“But,” Jerost held up a calloused thick fingered hand to forestall her, “We never murder anyone who does not fight. No children particularly. The Tevinters have no such problem and that man killed an entire camp, right down to the dogs.”

“He was a slave! He didn’t have the option to have a conscience, _Danarius_ was his conscience!” Hawke went to the door of the tent and threw the flap open and pointed at where Fenris stood waiting for his fate to be decided. “See him? _That_ is his conscience. He came here knowing what would happen, he didn’t defend himself when he was attacked, he surrendered his weapon without my asking, and he’s standing there waiting for you to do exactly what you seem intent to do because he feels nothing _but_ guilt! He said it himself! He. Had. No. Choice.”

Jerost sighed, and sat back down at the table. Looking at the wooden cup now empty he suddenly wished he had a flagon of anything, even the raw liquors the men made. There was, he realized, no way to make anyone completely happy here.

“Hawke I can’t guarantee he won’t do it again.”

“His master is dead. There is no one to order him anymore.”

“Exactly.”

Hawke pulled up short, looking at the man who was in essence responsible for every Fog Warrior camp on the entire island in complete confusion. Jerost sighed heavily.

“Hawke, if there is no one to order him to do something then there is also no one to order him not to. We have no idea what he might do. You’ve seen what happens with the former slaves here? They go through so much in the process of freeing themselves of what was done. What in Maker’s name do you think that one will do? He’s dangerous.”

“So,” Varric stepped out of the corner he’d taken up to watch, “What you are saying here is that you are willing to kill that man because you don’t trust him when you trust and tolerate all manner of things from the other slaves? Talk about double standards!”

“He’s dangerous!” Jerost repeated firmly, “He’s killed people!”

“Exactly!” Hawke hissed thoughtfully. “He _is_ dangerous. He’s like one of those caged tigers the Tevinters like to keep. Pacing and staring out at you and you know they are just waiting for the chance to rip you piece by piece.”

“Exactly!”

“But Jerost,” Hawke pointed at Fenris again, “He’s not in a cage. He’s not even _chained_! And he’s not looking at you or me like that. I suspect that the only ones he will ever look at like that again will be Magisters. Even tigers will purr if you show them a kindness. Look at him, just look at him. And see what is there! Danarius did that to him, I have no idea why except he wanted to see if he could. Turned him into a living, breathing weapon for no better reason than to use him to entertain himself and intimidate his rivals. Show him a kindness and watch what happens, you might just earn yourself loyalty of a man who possibly hates Magisters as much as you.”

Jerost stared out the tent a minute before looking back at Hawke shrewdly.

“The enemy of my enemy….”

“Is my friend.” Varric finished for him, looking up at Hawke with a cocked eyebrow.

Jerost fell into a silence that both Varric and Hawke recognized from experience. The man was deep in thought, looking at things from every angle possible and they both left him to it. Turning again to the open tent flap, Hawke regarded the subject of her impassioned speech. He had done nothing, nothing but follow her clipped orders to follow her and stay put. Behind him Warrick sat on a table, within a quick reach of Fenris, sword drawn and laid across his lap. She had taken Fenris’s own weapon and it now sat leaned against the table inside the tent but she knew only too well he didn’t require it if he decided to run. Or kill. His head was still bowed, eyes still regarding the sandy soil at his feet, face still inscrutable. She suddenly wondered what he was thinking.

* * *

 “She argues well for you.” Warrick commented lightly to the back he had spent the last few hours watching. He doubted that anyone in the tent had considered the sharp hearing that all elves shared and were unaware that the two men could hear every word. “I have never seen Hawke so… determined.”

Fenris’s eyes rolled sideways but he didn’t comment for a moment. Instead he considered the man that was guarding him. “She doesn’t understand.”

“Oh,” Warrick shifted slightly. “I think she does. I think she does very well. She came to the camp soon after I did. I used to be a household guard, a _trusted_ slave same as you. She understood very well my feelings and helped me stay sane when the shame very nearly broke me. She may have never been a slave, but she understands guilt very well. Especially the kind where you had no choice.”

Fenris didn’t reply to that, doubting that Danarius had ever trusted him, especially not after what had happened with the Fog Warriors. Instead he looked through his bangs at the woman who stood in the doorway studying him.

“I do not think she will let you die this night,” Warrick looked up, studying the slant of the light through the canopy over them and realizing it was later than he had thought. “I think she might leave with you first.”

‘I cannot let her do that,’ Fenris thought to himself. ‘She belongs here, I do not.’

* * *

 “So,” Jerost murmured looking down at the woman who had attacked Fenris on the beach where she sat at the table. “What you are saying is that after he killed the camp, that elf attempted to kill his own master?”

She nodded, looking at the table and not Jerost.

“The warriors had put a dent into their numbers before he turned on them, even wounded the Magister. He almost finished off the guards, but the Magister finally bested him. Knocked him unconscious and had him chained before he woke.”

“Well that would have been nice to know.” Jerost looked at Hawke thoughtfully as he told the woman she was free to leave.

“See? Even then he felt guilt and tried to free himself of Danarius,” Hawke argued once the woman was gone. “And I will guarantee you that Danarius made him pay dearly for what he did. He saw disloyalty everywhere and would not tolerate it. Trying to kill him is about as disloyal as you can get.”

“I suspect,” Varric chimed in lightly, “That the only reason that elf is still breathing at all is because he has a positive wealth of lyrium under his skin. Danarius didn’t kill him because he would have seen that as a wasted investment.”

“Or a failed one. That would have tweaked the pride of a senator and make him try and salvage what he could.”

Both Hawke and Varric nodded in agreement with Jerost’s astute conclusion, both sensing that the tide was starting to turn in him. He stood silent, a finger tapping his lips thoughtfully. Hawke had realized hours ago that this contemplative man was in no hurry to change his mind but she silently prayed that something of what he had heard would sway him. She wasn’t even sure herself why she was so determined to see this one elf freed but now that she’d set her course she was not going to back down from it.

“Jerost,” she murmured, dropping her eyes to the raised wooden floor of the tent, “I will not let you do this. If you can’t accept him then I will leave and take him with me. But,” she looked back up at the man she had learned to call friend as sure as she did Varric or Aveline, “If you let him stay I will take personal responsibility for him and anything he might do.”

“Even if that turns out to be murder?” Jerost stared at her, a hard look to his face.

Varric watched as she thought that one over, considering all the things they had seen from Fenris over the last few weeks. All the things she had seen from him over the last year. When she looked up, a determined glint to the steely look in her eye, he knew what she was going to say.

“Yes. But it won’t come to that.”

“That is a lot of faith in someone we know is not above attacking you.”

Rolling her eyes at the way Isabella’s crew liked to gossip, at the way gossip flew through the camp like a fire out of control and how Jerost kept close tabs on all of it, she threw up her hands.

“You weren’t there then and you weren’t there on the beach!” Hawke was angry now and she didn’t bother to try and hide it, instead pointing a finger at Jerost’s nose. “I was. I saw what he was thinking, I heard what he said. I have faith in little in this world, but I can honestly say I have faith that that man will die trying to make it right.”

A heavy silence fell over the tent as her words echoed on the night air. Jerost sat solidly in one of the chairs and drank heavily of the fruity cordial he’d finally called for. Hawke’s own cup sat untouched.

* * *

 “I told you.” Warrick sighed looking up again, this time into the darkness. “She never backs down that one. If you cannot show her the error of her path and she is unable forge ahead, she will simply take root and refuse to move. Like one of these trees.”

Fenris wordlessly regarded the voice at his back, his guard having been silent for hours and rarely moving. He knew this silent waiting. He’d practiced it himself. Sometimes the best way to avoid unwanted attention was to avoid attracting it, and learning how to blend into the furniture so that everyone overlooked your presence was one way. Moving in silence was another. When Fenris didn’t respond, Warrick leaned forward and tapped the flat of his sword to his charge’s back.

“I for one would miss her if she leaves,” he remarked candidly. “And I would hate to see her harmed. Let us all hope you are indeed worthy of the loyalty she is showing you in there.”

“It is not loyalty,” Fenris gritted through his teeth, “It is pity. I want no one’s pity.”

“Even if this pride costs you your life?” Warrick snorted and withdrew his weapon. “That is a price my pride would not accept. Whatever her reasons, you need to consider yourself lucky. Hawke does not put her neck out needlessly.”

Fenris sighed and cursed the woman who even now was saving his worthless, lyrium laced hide. When Warrick chuckled, knowing full well what Fenris had said in Arcanum Fenris tried without success to tamp down the anger he felt, at himself, at this elven guard, at Hawke herself, at a world that would put anyone in this position in the first place. Would this never end? Apparently yes because he’d no more than thought the words than Hawke left the tent, carrying his sword with her. Stopping in front of him she held out the weapon, marveling again at how heavy it was and at how they were once again repeating the same scene they had in Minrathous, right down to his bowed head.

“Take it,” her voice was clipped. “I’m still not interested in losing a toe.”

Fenris sighed resignedly, lifting his head as his hand took the sword he allowing her to see his anger. She regarded him in much the same fashion, her eyes firing daggers at the man because she knew she couldn’t plant one of the real ones in him instead. ‘Well,’ she thought bitterly, ‘At least this part is fresh. And as we all know everything is better fresh.’ Turning an eye to Warrick who made a show of standing and resheathing his sword, she watched him take his cue and leave the two of them alone.

“We don’t have a tent for you and its going to be tomorrow before we can get one set up,” Hawke turned on her heal and started away from the tent where Varric and Jerost were still discussing what gone on. “You’re going to have to bunk with me tonight.” Stopping when she realized Fenris wasn’t behind her, she fired a tired and surely look at him. “Or do you plan to stand there all night waiting for a sword that isn’t coming? Kinda like you’ve been poking at the big bad mage on her own ground hoping that maybe she would strike you down?”

Fenris’s lip curled up at that, creating a snarl that would have competed very well with the same tigers she had compared him to earlier but he didn’t say anything, just resheathed his sword and turned to follow her. Apparently he had no choice because he was not only in her debt for his freedom, but also now for his life. Not having a choice was something Fenris was well familiar with.


	7. Chapter 7

Fenris was up early, not having really slept much anyway. The new place, new sounds, new everything really had kept him from completely relaxing. And every time Hawke had twitched or moaned from her newly reassembled rope bed had made him twitch with irritation. Although she herself had gotten under his skin like a splinter that refused to be removed, the bed had fascinated him as he watched her assemble the pieces and thread the ropes that not only held the frame together, but also held up a mattress filled with some kind of dried plants that gave off a peculiar if not unpleasant smell. Hawke, noticing his interest had said something about seeing about getting him one but Fenris looked at it again in the half-light cast by a banked lantern and had his doubts. He’d never slept in a proper bed and didn’t know if he would ever get used to being held above the floor. That mattress now, that would be nice to have.

Finally giving up on the whole sleep idea, he crawled out of the makeshift nest of everything from linen sheets to towels that Hawke had pulled out of various chests in her tent and began to fold everything neatly. That finished, he pulled a chair out from under a table that stood next to the opening of the tent and sat, unsure if he should leave the tent or not. ‘Unsure of a lot of things,’ he thought to himself and fell to brooding.

He had no idea how long he’d been at it when a whimper caught his attention, unsure where it came from. When it was repeated, this time with more volume he realized it came from the bed, from Hawke and she was starting to move restlessly in her sleep. Blinking and realizing she was dreaming of something unpleasant, Fenris was torn. He had no idea what to do, didn’t know if Hawke would thank him even if he did have a clue. When her hands balled into fists around the sheet she had laid down on fully dressed and she started calling out names, he realized he would have to do something or she might bring down the entire camp soon. Standing and moving to the bed, he stood there watching as her brow furrowed and her mouth drew down. When again she called out, repeatedly asking someone named Anders not to do something, he reached down and drew his fingertips across her brow, seeking to smooth it out and it seemed to work, the deep furrows began to soften so he continued to stroke her forehead. Slowly she seemed to settle, her calls becoming incomprehensible mutters until finally they ceased altogether. Staring down at her as she slept, he found himself unaccountably pleased with himself for what he had done and he studied the woman who slept beneath his fingers, noticing not for the first time that though she was no heart-stopping beauty, she was still pleasing to the eye.

Catching himself he pulled his hand away and retreated back to his chair, this time to brood about her.

* * *

A deliberate scratching at the tent flap brought him out of his reverie again. Looking at the tied flaps a moment he finally got up and untied them. Warrick, his ‘helpful’ guard stood outside, as did Varric and more surprisingly, Jerost as well as several people Fenris didn’t know.

“Where’s Hawke,” Varric asked. “We came to see about your tent.”

“Asleep,” was Fenris’s clipped response, “She hasn’t moved in hours.”

“Then she must have really been tired. She never sleeps late.” Varric looked smartly back up at the elf, “Or did you have something to do with it?”

Drawing himself up at the dwarf’s question, not sure if he was asking had he harmed or… or… No, that wasn’t an option.

“I had nothing to do with it little man,” Fenris snorted haughtily.

“Well then,” Jerost looked from Fenris to Varric and back, “I guess pleading for the lives of ungrateful murderers is more tiring than I would have thought.”

Fenris bit down on what immediately came to mind, flushing angrily.

“I am not ungrateful to her,” he finally bit out.

“He does not wish her pity,” Warrick supplied helpfully.

“Ah,” Jerost studied the elf a moment, noting he didn’t deny the murderer part. “I think I can understand that. Well, leave her then. You can help us put together your new home. Seems fitting.”

More than a little bit curious despite the fact the whole ‘your’ part of it seemed a bit wrong to him, Fenris pulled the flaps shut behind him and followed, falling in beside Warrick with surprising ease at the back of the line.

* * *

Hawke’s eyes snapped open, realizing the light was all wrong before she was even completely awake. Looking around as the fog of the Fade clung tenaciously to her it took her a moment to realize she was back in Seheron. It took a few moments more to realize she was missing something, an important something. Scanning the room again even though she was pretty sure he would be hard to miss, she noted the neatly folded things she’d tossed at him to use to make his bed. Where was the surly elf? Pulling herself up out of the bed, she started cursing under her breath, wondering what he could have gotten up to while she laid there, apparently out like a light. It wasn’t until she was out on the step that she realized she was hearing hammers and followed the sound.

Stumbling out from between tents, she pulled up short when she saw what was going on. Jerost of all people, along with several others were busy building the floor and walls that Fenris’s tent would be put over. The semi-permanent structures that the Fog Warriors used were a compromise between functionality and ease of movement. The bases kept both people and things up off the often damp ground but were easily torn down and disposed of when it came time to move the camp. During the rainy season, when the rain rarely if ever stopped completely, having a dry place to sleep was more than a comfort, it was downright necessary. Most of the furniture was also rough hewn, easily disassembled and easily moved. If there was one thing they did not lack for in a rainforest it was wood or the resin they used as waterproofing.

Not having been noticed she watched as Warrick and Fenris held one of the walls in place while Jerost and Varric both hammered the wooden nails into place to hold it to the frame. All of them had stripped down to their breeches in the humid heat and Hawke couldn’t help but follow the Fenris’s brands as they snaked across his shoulders and chest, breaking apart to run down his waste and disappear into the leather leggings of his armor. Regardless of how they got there or even what they did they were striking as they would occasionally catch the sun and glint dully. No one else seemed to be paying them any mind as they worked together, even stopping to explain to Fenris why it was done this way, or how it was fitted together. Pleasantly surprised, she stepped out yawning exaggeratedly.

“Well hello you,” Varric leaned against the wall they had just put into place and looked at Hawke closely. “You my dear look like shit.”

“Why thank you kind sir,” Hawke snorted realizing just then that she hadn’t even stopped to brush her hair, “What do you expect when I wake up,” she paused to look up at the canopy, trying to get an idea what time it was and failing, “Hours late?”

“Hawke it is nearly lunchtime, you are more than a few hours late,” Jerost quipped lightly.

“Well, I never can sleep on ships,” she muttered as she sat on the already completed flooring. “Too much worrying about falling out of bed I guess. And Tevinter wasn’t much fun either. Learned to sleep real light there. Spent almost a year thinking, ‘sleep? What is sleep? I’ll sleep when I’m dead.’ Felt like I was sometimes.”

“Welcome,” Warrick slapped a light hand to her shoulder and cocked his head in Fenris’s direction, “To our world. Least no one is going to beat you for oversleeping.”

“Feels like someone did,” Hawke snorted lightly, noticing that Fenris was standing off to the side, not commenting or joining in at all. “Feels like I ran all the way across Thedas and back.”

“You look it too,” Varric patted the rats’ nest of her hair without really doing much to smooth it. “You might want to go find yourself a brush before something decides to move in.”

“And some coffee,” she added as she nodded and slid back to her feet. “The thing I missed the most was the coffee.”

Jerost waved his hand dismissively and went back to measuring out the next wall.

Fenris watched her go then looked at Warrick. That he could actually joke about his life as a slave and that these people who had never felt a lash could accept it so casually as banter just stunned him. The easy camaraderie came as no surprise though, he’d seen it before. These people fought against all comers, on multiple fronts and against great odds. Their defense against the enormity of it was that easy friendship. Their determination to turn aside the Qunari invasion and oust the Tevinters was their sword but the easy laughter was their shield. They bitterly knew that their fight was for the long haul and regardless who eventually took the island they would still be there nipping at their heels, just as they had been for decades now. Turning back to the task at hand, he once again felt a deep respect for these people.

* * *

Hawke sat waiting, wondering where it was that Fenris had gotten too. She and Jerost had managed to find a spare rope bed laying about in one of the storage tents but when they had returned to the newly assembled tent Fenris had been gone. Not wanting to just enter what was now his tent and not wanting to just leave the bed sitting at the door in case it decided to rain, Hawke had volunteered to wait. But it was full dark now and still no Fenris. Sighing she parked her elbows on her knees and her chin on the backs of her hands and stared off into space, trying to entertain herself and failing miserably because now her stomach was starting to rumble.

Fenris stood leaning against a tree off from his tent, watching the mage as she waited and wondered just how long she would be willing to sit there. He had hoped to avoid her as much as he could but she was just was not cooperating with this plan. Deciding that enough was enough, he finally picked his way to the cleared area around the firepit that Varric had dug as the rest of them had hung the canvas from the newly assembled frame. This was after all, _his_ camp, _his_ tent, _his_ … space according to them and _she_ was invading it.

Without preamble, he stopped in front of her, his face impassive but his eyes as inviting as a thunderclap. “What do you want Hawke?”

Her eyebrow rose at his abrupt tone but not to be put off, she pointed at the parts to the bed.

“Thank you,” he grated out, managing to make the pleasantry sound like a threat instead. “You can leave it.”

“Won’t you need help putting it up?”

“No.”

“Alright then,” Hawke stood, feeling her own hackles rise. “I will leave you to it then. The mattress you will have to get filled.”

“I think I can manage.” Finally deciding that directly blunt was the only thing that was going to work he finished with, “Please leave me alone.”

“What,” Hawke drew up to her full height, “Exactly have you got stuck up your backside and would you like my help removing it because it is obviously causing you all manner of distress?”

Fenris’s eyebrow shot up at her colorful use of words, but refused to be baited.

“What is ‘causing me all manner of distress’ is _you_. I did not ask for anything you have done, I was not once consulted in any of this,” Fenris finally just spit out. “I have just been told again and again what is best, like I am some child who does not know better! Well how do you know? How do any of you know?”

“Well it sure beats wearing a fancy gold collar doesn’t it?” Hawke fired back with equal venom. “Being forced to do anything you are told, right up to and including murdering innocent people just to amuse popinjay Magisters while they stuffed their face with food when you had none?”

Fenris took a step closer, leaning down to put his face into hers and spat, “Magisters did not serve pity on a plate and tell me to eat fast as I can until I choked on it either!”

Hawke flinched back, for once at a loss for words. She studied the elf, his color high and eyes flashing.

“Is that what you think?”

“Bah!” Fenris threw up his hands and turning he began throwing the parts of the rope bed through the open flap on the tent, cursing colorfully in three languages when one didn’t have properly descriptive adjectives to suit him. Ignoring her completely when he was done he pulled the tent flap shut and walked to the far side of the empty tent and sat on the floor next to his armor and sword. Arms crossed he silently dared her to follow.

Hawke had no intentions of trying, instead she stared at the tent for several heartbeats before beating a strategic retreat. Her mother may have been a great many things but a fool wasn’t one of them and she hadn’t raised any either. If that was the way he wanted it? Fine! She would leave him as alone as he left her.

It wasn’t until much later that it dawned on her to wonder how he knew Qunari.


	8. Chapter 8

Hawke was vaguely surprised when she looked up and saw Jerost wander into the infirmary tent. After the death of his wife he tended to avoid it because of the memories it brought back of her lingering illness and passing. She cocked an eyebrow questioningly at him as stood inside the door just looking around as if to refamiliarize himself with the place before striding to where she sat at a table, looking through a crate of things Isabella had left her during her last visit. Even here, in a place Hawke knew made him uncomfortable Jerost gave off an aura of calm self-assurance and quiet fortitude. It was what commanded respect from his people, this natural leadership and Hawke didn’t envy him. She’d felt that mantle and it had bitten her badly.

“Hawke.”

“Well this is a surprise,” she smiled. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Jerost let his eyes fall to the table a moment, ordering his thoughts before finally replying.

“I came to apologize,” he sighed. “I was wrong about your elf.”

Hawke sat back in her chair, staring up at Jerost a moment considering that.

“He’s not my elf.”

“You know what I mean,” Jerost snorted. “I know that something went on between the two of you and that you don’t talk, but I asked Warrick to keep an eye on him. He volunteers for guard duty constantly and they just seemed a match to me. Warrick has kept me informed. He seems to be coming along without any big drama like we’ve seen before. So, I wanted to apologize for not believing you.”

Hawke chuckled and waved her hand dismissively at the man. It had been months since the day Fenris had asked her to leave him alone and she had. He’d made it relatively easy since he avoided the evening communal meals in the common area and generally seemed to keep to himself. She knew that Jerost had more or less assigned Warrick to partner with Fenris because Warrick’s wife had told her when she came for her regular check up. And Warrick himself had told her that he rather liked the tattooed elf. Happy that he seemed to be finding himself a niche, she’d left it alone.

“There has to be more to it than that Jerost,” Hawke replied blithely. “You wouldn’t come here to tell me this otherwise.”

Jerost sighed.

“Come on, out with it.”

“You know the last raid on those Tevinter holdings up north,” he rolled his eyes up as he spoke and Hawke knew he was considering his words carefully. “When he volunteered I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I expected if there was going to be a problem it would be there. But he was very… business as usual. It’s a little disconcerting, having someone glowing like that when he fights, but once you get used to it…. The man is ferocious in the field, much as I hate to admit it he’s worth three other fighters.” He shrugged. “You were there.”

Yes she had been, but she hadn’t been fighting. Her roll had been healer and she had been far too busy doing that to really pay much attention to what Fenris had done. The glowing thing had rather been a distraction at first much like Jerost had said, but once the injuries started she had been far too busy dealing with those to even notice what Fenris had gotten up to except that he’d managed the entire raid without a scratch. She sighed.

“Jerost, you don’t have to apologize to me. You know that. I have no more idea what goes through his head now than I did then, I just knew that he deserved a chance.” She shrugged. “Danarius was not an easy man, and I wasn’t his slave.”

“Even so,” Jerost nodded thoughtfully as he turned to leave. Hawke watched him go. That was another reason he commanded respect – he wasn’t afraid to admit he was wrong.


	9. Chapter 9

Fenris stood in the shadows by the tents watching as Hawke ran through her practice routine. It was one of her morning rituals, done soon upon waking while most everyone else was either still asleep or still trying to shake off the Fade’s lingering fog. Each day was different, some days she practiced with her daggers, some the throwing knives she kept squirreled away in various places in her armor and some, like today, she practiced her agility. No matter what she chose she tackled it with a single mindedness that bordered on obsession, blocking out everything else and pushing herself far harder than any teacher ever would. Each day she finished sweaty and exhausted, obviously not satisfied. Watching as she strove for perfection had become part of his own routine soon after their arrival on Seheron, trying to sort this woman out.

He didn’t understand this, a mage who endeavored to be a rogue. It was his experience that mages flaunted their powers, no matter how meager their talents. In Tevinter it was what defined their status and though he knew it was different other places he could not understand why Hawke refused to use her powers now that she was away from Minrathous. He’d never seen her use magic beyond simple things there true- her job wasn’t one that required it. Even so his own brands, which would itch and irritate in the presence of magic, had told him she was more than she put on and was why he had not trusted Danarius’s new secretary. Her confidence with those simple magics was telling enough, her ability as a healer just proved the point. Her connection to the Fade was a powerful one and Hawke was capable of much more than she allowed herself. The fact that she had beaten Danarius’s blood magic…

Fenris mentally shook himself. He didn’t want to think on those things, he desperately wanted to put them behind him but they crept in like _they_ were the rogues. As horrid as his life had been in Minrathous he’d felt a comfort in knowing what to expect, as a slave he knew his place in things. This freedom left him unsure of everything, including his roll. That he was finally able to repay his debt to the Fog Warriors for both saving his life and their sacrifice in dying at his hands… well that he was grateful for and would gladly die for even the smallest child here in the camp even if everyone looked at him oddly and kept a cool distance from him. In no small way his guilt at what he’d done had caused him to question himself and his blind obedience to Danarius even before Hawke but he’d never thought to be in a position to repay it.

The debt he owed _her_ … now that vexed him.

That he owed a mage a debt of kindness at all still amazed and rankled at him. His own feelings on magic were immoveable, graven in stone in his heart and soul. It festered and ate the life out of everything it touched and he fully intended to live as far from its influences as possible. And yet it was of all things a mage that he owed for his current state, for delivering him from the physical bonds of slavery even if the mental chains were slower to come free. That annoyed him, _she_ annoyed him. That he could not understand her irritated him most and despite knowing that he owed this woman for everything he found he was becoming, in her presence his back went up. What was it about her that set him immediately on his guard? He was determined to find out, and get some answers.

So now, after months of silently watching from the gloom cast by the great trees the camp was hidden in, Fenris stepped out into the light that slanted into the clearing that was used to practice and teach fighting skills. Standing casually by the archery targets though he felt far from casual, he continued to watch as she finished off a lengthy series of back flips without noticing him, waiting. Once her feet were firmly planted on the ground, he spoke.

“Why does a mage pretend to be a rogue?”

It came out harsher than he intended and startled her. When she swung around, eyes wide and falling almost naturally into a fighting stance though she had no weapons, he shook his head. As she took him and what he’d said in, he groped to find a way to fix it but she beat him to the punch, eyes flashing with anger.

“I am _not_ pretending!”

“What I meant is,” he sighed, “Why does a mage work so hard to be a rogue?”

She considered that a moment, using walking to her pack for a towel to mop the sweat off her face and pulling the tie that bound her hair loose to buy her time before answering quietly, “Because I can.”

“It cannot be that simple,” Fenris responded, a little of his testiness creeping into his voice. “I can see that you are a capable rogue, but that is not what you are. You are a mage.”

That irritated her, far worse than his sneaking up on her after she had finally gotten used to his standing under the trees watching for all this time and she cocked an eyebrow at him, schooling her face into a look of derision.

“I can be what I want Fenris, same as you. You were born into slavery, but that doesn’t mean you _are_ one.  I may have magic but it does not define who I am and I will not allow it to define _what_ I am.” She watched as his eyebrows drew together and his eyes went inward, knowing that meant he was considering what she had said and sighed. “Look Fenris, in Ferelden and in the Free Marches I was an apostate, like my sister and our father before us. We were not free to use our magic the way Magisters are in Tevinter. My father was Circle trained before escaping and he made damn good and sure that we knew how to control it and what to do with it, but he also taught us a hard lesson that my experience has shown me the truth of. He told us to never rely on magic alone because like anything else in this world, it will inevitably fail you and if you’re lucky it won’t get you or someone else killed. It’s a tool, one best used sparingly.”

“A wise man,” Fenris nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes he was,” Hawke agreed.

“That would explain the rogue training. But why do you deliberately not use magic for anything more than you do?”

Hawke sighed and gracefully folded herself down to the ground, sitting a moment staring off into the distant trees across the clearing. This elf was completely disconcerting. He would go days, sometimes weeks without saying a word to her and when he did it was always short, to the point and gave the impression that he would rather be chewing glass. But every morning, there he would be standing off to himself watching her. She would be in the middle of a conversation or task and just know that he was there. At first it had annoyed her but eventually she had learned to expect it and to ignore it, figuring one way or another he would work through it. She couldn’t blame him, and she figured there was no right or wrong way. But she hadn’t expected this.

How much was she willing to tell him? How much was she willing to recount, relive and share?

“Fenris, that is like pouring salt on things even I can’t heal. And it wasn’t just one thing.” Glancing up, she saw he was studying her closely and suddenly she wondered how much had been visible on her face for this clever elf to see. “Once my father died my entire life became an exercise in surviving and protecting my family. I lost sight of his wisdom without him there.” Pausing to reflect on that, she finally shrugged. “In the end I was better at survival.”

“It cannot be that simple,” Fenris repeated thoughtfully as he joined her on the ground. “Varric’s tales… well they cannot be the whole truth, but he said your sister died in Ferelden, that darkspawn got her.”

Hawke winced involuntarily as much at the mention of Varric’s heroic tales as at the memories they embellished on. Though this was probably the least of her guilts concerning her family she still was not entirely sure she wanted to go poking at old scars. Then again, it had been almost two decades since…. Well maybe talking about her would be a good thing. Glancing at Fenris she saw that he was scrutinizing the way her hand had unconsciously clenched into the towel she still held and thought, ‘She would have liked you. Her soft heart would have gone out to you and she would have won you over straight away, mage or no.’ Swallowing hard she willed her hand to loosen as she thought about where to start.

“Bethany… did die escaping Lothering,” Hawke tried to keep her voice neutral as she started. “By that time it wasn’t just Mother, Bethany and Carver with me. We had come across a Templar and his wife trying to escape Ostigar. The Templar – Wesley, he had gone there to fight with Aveline who was an officer in King Cailin’s army. I really don’t know the whole story of how they got to where we found them because Aveline never spoke of it, but when we came across them he was injured and she was fighting far too many darkspawn to ever win alone. None of us were willing to see anyone, even a Templar die at the hands of those creatures so we went to their aid.”

“An apostate? Two apostates? Aiding a Templar?” Fenris shook his head. “Indeed interesting times breed interesting bedfellows. I had thought that one of Varric’s embellishments.”

“No, Wesley existed, and it even though caused some tension we banded together. At least for that short time? An apostate and a Templar could coexist. Who knows what would have happened when we managed to get clear of the Blight had Wesley survived. I do know that I would never have gotten to know one of the most remarkable women I’ve ever had the fortune to call my friend.” Hawke sighed heavily, missing Aveline more at that moment than she had in years. She had been her friend, her companion, and at times when it mattered she had been her moral compass, keeping Hawke on the straight and narrow path. What would she have made of this man? “She’s remarried now and Guard Captain of Kirkwall, two things I like to think I had a small hand in helping her achieve.”

When she fell to silence, Fenris decided not to prod. She was obviously lost in her thoughts concerning this Aveline she spoke of, someone else that had popped up in more than a few of Varric’s tales. While she sorted herself out, Fenris considered what she had already told him. Darkspawn were not something that caused much of a problem in Tevinter so he had only rarely seen them, had never been forced to actually fight any himself. But it was no small feat that this woman and her motley band of family, royal army, and of all things Templars had managed to get themselves clear of a Blight. The tales of Lothering’s fall and King Alastair’s ascent to the throne were the stuff of legend, even in Tevinter. Had Fenris been of a religious bent he would have said that the Maker must have smiled on this woman.

“We were…” she started then fell silent again. Fenris watched as her brows furrowed and her eyes dropped to study her hands in her lap as though she had never seen them before. Her throat worked hard on whatever words she was trying to form until finally they managed to escape. “We were trying to make our way south because the north was overrun. We had no idea what we were going to do once we got to the Wilds but that was the only way open to us. The path was only wide enough for us to walk two abreast most of the time but occasionally it would open up and there would be a clearing. It was in one of those that the Ogre attacked.

“It charged us, literally out of nowhere and all we could do was get out of its way. Carver, Aveline, Wesley and I ended up scattering one way, Bethany and Mother the other way. Bethany… she was trying to protect Mother.” Hawke’s voice hardened as she continued, dripping with the bitterness she still felt. “She may have been a dread apostate, a _thing_ to be feared by all of Thedas but in reality she was a kindhearted and gentle girl. It was never in her nature to hurt anything and her spells fell… short. All she accomplished really was to irritate the Ogre and draw its attention. Before any of us could do anything it was on her, shaking her like she was a ragdoll and pounding her into the ground. She never stood a chance.”

She fell to silence again, throat still working furiously to tamp down the knot of emotions that had formed there. ‘Oh Bethany,’ she thought not for the first time, ‘I pray that you rest easier than your memory does in my heart.’ Unconsciously her hands twisted at the towel as though they had a mind of their own, wanting to wring the life out of something for causing her heart to ache again with this familiar pain.

“The truth is that most of the tale that Varric tells is true,” she finally managed without looking at Fenris. “It’s the little details that aren’t. He likes to make me the hero of all his little epics, but the truth is that I had help. There were always people there to help me accomplish everything that I did including him, though he downplays his part to nothing more than storyteller and chronicler. I hadn’t met him then, didn’t until we had been in Kirkwall for a year or so. It was Carver and Aveline that helped kill that Ogre, even if it was me that got the killing shot. And what we did we didn’t do out of courage, it was nothing but fear and for me at least anger. Carver and I were never close, but Bethany….”

When she trailed off Fenris looked away. He could only try to understand the emotions she expressed both in the haunted look of her eye and the sadness in her voice. He had never lost anyone dear, never had anyone dear to lose. Or maybe he had. He didn’t know himself but if he had he couldn’t remember it. He couldn’t mourn for something he didn’t recall, he could only mourn the possibility. He suddenly felt an unaccountable desire to comfort Hawke but he didn’t know how. That was not one of the skills Danarius had required of his slave.

“Fear is a double edged sword Hawke,” he finally said, deciding to fall back on his own experience. “It can freeze you or lead to acts of bravery. That depends on you. What you did _was_ brave even if you were doing what needed done. I am… sorry about your sister but she was also brave. She too was doing what she had to, even if it did lead to her death.”

Hawke didn’t say anything for a few moments, just stared off into the distance, trying hard to see the forest for the trees and never quite getting there.

“I know that Fenris, in my head anyway. I just wish I could explain it to my heart.”

The pain in her voice made him unaccountably uncomfortable and suddenly he felt… guilty. He had asked her to dredge up the past when he himself refused any such sacrifice. His eyes sliding sideways to see she was still lost in her own thoughts, he sighed.

“I do not know what that is like,” he started hesitantly. “I do not remember if I have a family.”

Hawke mentally shook herself and turned to regard the elf who was now studying his own hands, face deceptively blank. She didn’t say anything for a moment, instead studying his profile. He really was a handsome and she wondered vaguely what he would look like if the day ever came when he smiled. He was so self-contained, so wrapped up in his own thoughts and determined to keep all of it hidden that he usually kept either a studiously neutral or slightly haughty expression all the time. If the day ever came when he just smiled, just let loose with laughter, well the whole camp might die of the shock.

“What do you mean?” she asked finally when it became apparent he wasn’t going to continue without prompting.

“I do not remember,” he repeated simply. “Danarius did more than make me his own personal weapon when he did this,” He paused to hold up his hand, the lyrium catching the sunlight dully. “He took away everything, even my memories.”

Hawke couldn’t help it; she felt her jaw drop and was helpless to stop it. She didn’t know what surprised her more – what he was saying or the way he had said it. His affect was so flat, so matter of fact, so... well, Fenris when you got right down to it. When she didn’t say anything Fenris lost his nerve and without looking at her he suddenly stood and began to stalk away. Cursing under her breath Hawke was after him without thinking.

“Fenris!” He didn’t stop, didn’t even pause when she called so she gritted her teeth and did something she knew he was not going to react well to – she reached out and grabbed his arm. “Fenris, stop!”

Bad was an understatement, his reaction was at best bad. Yanking his arm free he swung around with a look that froze her in place, a low growl escaping his throat and lyrium flaring. When he took a step forward, his hands balled into fists she snapped out of her paralysis. Holding up both hands and backing up at the same pace he advanced she decided her only chance here was to try talking her way out of it.

“Fenris wait! I’m sorry, I know you don’t like being touched, but I….”

Moving faster than she could follow he was on her, his hands twisting into the fabric of her shirt and physically lifting her right off her feet until her eyes were level with his, his nose almost touching the end of hers. Blinking furiously at the rage, hate, and pain that was swirling through his mossy green eyes she refused to defend herself for something that she had gotten herself into in the first place.

“No, I don’t,” he gritted out, “Because it hurts. Something else Danarius did when he marked me.”

“I’m sorry,” she spoke softly as she could past the lump in her throat. “I didn’t know. I just wanted to understand.”

That hit a nerve; she could see that in his unguarded eyes as the anger drained out of them and his snarl slowly smoothed out. Carefully he sat her back on her feet, but didn’t let loose of her shirt. Instead he scrutinized the woman under his hands just as she was cautiously studying him, ignoring his hold on her. For the first time he noticed just how tiny she was, just about everything about her. He probably understood better than anyone just how deceptive that was but it was disconcerting nonetheless. Slowly uncurling his fingers, he let her loose and turned away.

“There is nothing to understand.”

Hawke gazed after him, trying to steady her own breathing and considering carefully all the things that she had seen while his thoughts had been exposed. Eyes narrowing thoughtfully, she murmured, “I beg to differ.”

When his step faltered slightly she knew his sharp ears had caught her but he didn’t stop, leaving her at the edge of the clearing staring after him long after he had disappeared.


	10. Chapter 10

The evening meal was a bit of a social gathering for the Fog Warriors. It was the one time of the day when everyone would gather, either feasting or forcing down whatever fare the people whose lot it was that week to cook would put on the table. Women and men alike shared the burden, although since the women were as often as not noncombatants in their ongoing guerilla war they tended to shoo the worst of the men away from anything they might completely destroy. Hawke had learned long ago not to ask too closely what exactly it was they were eating because these resourceful people made use of just about everything they could find in the rainforests to supplement the supplies that were brought in by ship. Everything from the harsh local distilled liquors the men made to the smoother, flavored cordials the women made out of them and the occasional ale or stolen Tevinter wine would be brought out and by the time the eating was over everyone would be ready to sit around listen to the stories or songs. Sometimes it would be the tales of old that were repeated everywhere with minor regional differences of course, and sometimes it would be one of the warriors recounting a heroic victory of the Fog Warrior’s themselves. Sometimes, as it was tonight someone would ask Varric to recount a tale from the Free Marches which often meant Hawke was the hero.

Not being much in the mood for the round eyed looks the children gave her or the nods of approval from the adults, Hawke politely excused herself halfway through Varric’s retelling of how Hawke had more or less single-handedly killed a dragon while saving the lives of dozens of Ferelden miners in a mine she had for a time own a partial share in. As she exited she couldn’t help but shake her head. It had actually been Varric himself who had gotten the killing shot on that beast, landing a bolt from Bianca dead in the thing’s eye after she had managed to freeze it, and by the time they had gotten there most of the miners were either dead or fled. But Varric rarely let the facts get in the way of poetic license where his tales were concerned. So wrapped up in her own more accurate recount in her head she never noticed the form clinging to the shadows of the periphery of the bright dining area until a voice caught her unaware, causing her to start and unsheathe one of the several daggers she habitually wore.

“No stomach for your own adventures?” Fenris eyed the weapon a moment before deciding to ignore it as he stepped forward into the light.

“Maker’s Breath Fenris!” Hawke sighed, willing her heart to crawl back down out of her throat. “You are entirely too sneaky. I’m trained and I can’t… stealth around the way you do.” Eyeing him as she replaced the dagger, she sighed. “And in armor too. Guess that means you have guard duty tonight?”

Fenris nodded, his eyes falling away. She could tell by the way he hesitated that there was something he wanted to say, and she figured she knew what about so she decided to break the ice herself.

“Fenris, I’m sorry about today. I wasn’t trying… well… Andraste’s flaming butt cheeks I’m not much good at this.” One of her hands went to rub the bridge of her nose. “I’m good at talking any other time, just not when it matters.”

Fenris cocked an eyebrow at her and remained silent, content to let her dig herself a hole and then attempt scale the walls back out as apparently was her want.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything when you told me… I just didn’t know what to say. And the way you said it? Like you were discussing the weather or the price of… well silk in Antiva, it just took me by surprise.” Shooting a look at him through her lashes she saw that the eyebrow had slid back down and he was listening thoughtfully. “I’m no shrinking violet, I know that bad things happen, usually to people who can’t defend themselves against it but most are fast to express their feelings when something is done to them. You? You say it like you would point to that tree and say ‘big.’ I just couldn’t decide how to react.”

Fenris nodded, looking at a point over her shoulder as he did, not quite willing to meet her eye. Sighing Hawke wasn’t sure what to say now.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just… sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Fenris replied curtly, suddenly irritated and unable to say why.

When he started to walk away she almost made the same mistake twice, reaching for him at first and then diverting herself to let her arm block his way, trusting he would stop rather than run into it.

“No,” she whispered. “It’s not that simple. I’m not sorry as a woman or a human or even a member in good standing of this little rebel club we have going here. I’m sorry as a thinking feeling being and I’m deeply sorry as a mage. None of this should have been done, to you or anyone else – _ever_.”

Fenris stared at the arm blocking his path a few moments after she fell silent before looking at her thoughtfully a few moments more.

“You were right, I do hate this need to apologize to me as a mage,” he paused when he saw her cringe at the reminder of what he had overheard that night on the ship leaving Tevinter. “I want no one’s sympathy, mage or no. And you are right, no one should be made this way, but I was not made overnight.”

“I know,” Hawke let her voice go hard. “And the more I see the more I think I let Danarius die too quickly.”

“He is but one of many,” Fenris growled. “Even now I suspect Hadriana has taken his place. There is always someone to take up the reins of power. It is not just the markings that make me what I am; I am as much a product of a corrupted system that enjoys privilege at the cost of slavery as I am the product of a mage’s lust for novelty and power.”

“I know,” Hawke sighed. “But I have only so much room to be angry and I’m not looking at anyone else right now.”

That caused his eyebrows to draw together and his eyes to narrow and flash angrily.

“Then don’t look at me. Look at what those people are trying to accomplish,” he paused to point a clawed finger at the clearing filled with laughter, “Freeing themselves and their homeland from both the tyranny of Tevinter and the dogma of the Qun. That should be anger enough for you.” Reaching out he pushed her arm out of his way and sneered, “I do not understand you.”

“I wish I could explain better then,” she sighed forlornly after him, knowing he could probably still hear her. “I haven’t felt this angry about anything in so long I almost forgot what it felt like.”

Fenris pulled up short, shooting a quizzical look over his shoulder at Hawke’s back as she retreated back to her tent. He had no idea what he’d expected from her, but last he’d checked that hadn’t been anywhere on the list. Unhappy with the way the entire charade had gone both this morning and this evening, Fenris sighed and turned back to look at the clearing filled with men, women and children both human and elven, all enraptured with Varric and his dramatic storytelling. Eyes narrowing, he considered the dwarf a moment before dismissing him and continuing on to where he was to meet with the others pulling guard duty that night.

Hours later, the moon high though they could not see it through the high canopy, Fenris sat leaning against a tree between two massive roots, listening to the normal sounds of the night shrouded forest. At first the near complete dark had unnerved him, as had the loudness of it. Almost all of his experience was in cities or bright camps. Truly this had been a learning experience for him. He hadn’t bothered to keep track of how long he had been in Seheron, but it had been long enough for him to get acclimated to the noisy dark of it. Learning to use his sharp elven hearing to his advantage, he couldn’t always identify what bird, what insect or monkey it was making the sounds he heard, but he knew which belonged and better still, what didn’t. Keeping an ear to the night, he sat thoughtfully considering the aggravating mage.

He knew there had to be more to this woman’s story, more than she had told him, more than even Varric was volunteering in his epic tales. He also knew that asking Varric would be a waste of time. The dwarf was apparently willing to leave his family businesses in the care of someone else, not to mention using his profits to help fund the Fog Warriors so that he could spent time in Seheron with his friend. That was a level of devotion that also left little room for idle gossip. He briefly considered Isabella but quickly dismissed the thought. She might indeed be willing to answer a few questions but he doubted he would be willing to pay the price she would assuredly ask, and there was no guarantee the information would be any more accurate than Varric’s stories. That pretty much left Hawke herself and he’d already seen how well that went.

Sighing and well aware that he held much of the blame for that morning, what she had said to him later rankled him still. What did she have to be sorry for? She had done nothing. No, she had - she’d freed him, even argued for his acceptance here and he knew he owed a debt to her for that. But she had nothing to be sorry for. What? Because she was a mage? One that was trying so very hard to deny what she was? Bah! Magic had everything to do with it, but only one mage and he was dead even if his ghost still lingered. Although he couldn’t bring himself to completely trust any mage, finding himself watching closely the few that resided in the camp, he understood that they were not all Danarius, or for that matter Hadriana. And although he had seen with his own eyes that Hawke was not above blood magic, she had done it to defeat Danarius’s own use of it to free him of one of the trappings of his enslavement.  Her bitter reluctance to use _any_ magic except in service to someone else cooled that concern in him, but raised so many questions.

A little disgusted that his thoughts had run full circle, he shifted uncomfortably and tried to consider her last parting comment. What had that meant? No matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t work it out. Much like the pain he had seen in her as she had recounted her sister’s death he had no frame of reference because his own anger was a constant companion, one that had kept him sane through more than he cared to try and recount. Its roots run deep, almost as deep as the shame and despair and though he knew that here, in this life that he found himself in now he no longer required them they resisted his best efforts to retire them.

’ Maybe,’ he mused bitterly, ‘It is my lot to always be alone even in a crowd.’

In Minrathous the other slaves had feared him. They all knew that at any time Danarius might order his pet to kill one of them for the slightest offense or for the entertainment of other Magisters. And he had held himself apart from them for much the same reasons, knowing that Danarius would not be above forcing him to kill someone that mattered to him as punishment. He had forced himself not to care, to watch dispassionately as Danarius had the kitchen staff lashed for a dessert he felt wasn’t par, or when he had forced a child to retrieve a stone from the bottom of a pot of boiling water as a reminder to never touch anything on his desk. His own earliest memories were of Danarius, riding crop in hand for encouragement, forcing him to use the brands he had etched into him though they burned so that the ‘encouragement’ was little more to him then than a mosquito bite was now. Hawke had been wrong in her assessment, saying that he could have killed Danarius. He had tried once and it had not gone well for him. That was when he had collared him, chained him in more ways than just the literal. Although those long months after his forced return to Tevinter were a blur of darkness and pain he still woke some nights with their touch on his soul, screams choked in his throat.

Once again shifting, far too uncomfortable with where his musings had taken him to sit quiet, he was not at all surprised when a voice found him.

“You are edgy tonight Fenris.”

Sighing yet again, something that today had become a bit of a habit he turned his attention to the elf that he knew stood on the other side of the tree. Someone had decided that Warrick and he would complement each other and they were usually assigned to guard duties together. Frankly Fenris suspected that the former slave and household guard to some Magister simply was not put off by his own standoffishness because he had more than his own fair share of it himself, though what he made of the lyrium tattoos Fenris could not say. They had yet to come up in conversation because Warrick seemed to just accept that they were part and parcel of the scarring of his slavery. For that Fenris was grateful. Discussing his brands was just not something he wanted to do.

“My thoughts run close to the surface,” Fenris replied. “They refuse to settle.”

Fenris could almost see Warrick nodding to himself, something the dark haired elf did a lot of but he did not comment further, sensing that Fenris didn’t wish to discuss it. Instead Fenris heard him stand and carefully pick his way around the tree. Barely able to see the man in the dark, Fenris listened as he once again settled, this time standing on the other side of the tree root next to Fenris.

“Going to rain soon,” he remarked lightly after a few moments of silence. “Hopefully not until dawn though. I don’t particularly like getting my armor wet. Takes forever for the strapping to dry, even in the heat here.”

Grunting his assent at the other man’s feelings, Fenris was suddenly grateful to the man. He was somehow sensing that Fenris needed a distraction and was doing his best to provide it in his own stoic way.

“Best to keep it well oiled, keeps the water out of the leather.”

“But here?” Warrick remarked wryly, “The… steadiness of the downpour defeats even that half the time. I think there is not half enough oil in all of Thedas to keep it dry.”

* * *

Hawke’s eyes snapped open, sweat soaked and alone in the dark. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, feeling like it might burst any moment as she clenched her fist to it and repeated to herself ‘It was a dream, he’s not here, _it’s_ not here,’ over and over again until finally it began to believe her mantra and settled to a more normal rhythm. Her nerves were another thing altogether, they literally sang with the need to do _something_. Fidgeting until finally she gave in, the need for action drove her from her bed. She could tell by the sounds of the forest that dawn was on the horizon even if its light hadn’t made it into the trees yet. Dressing in the dark because her tent was so familiar she didn’t need any light, in her head she was already in the clearing, practicing with her throwing knives. It was then that the first drops of rain began to fall, steadily strengthening into a constant drumming against the top of her tent. Turning the wick up on her lantern she stared at the roof over her and tried to decide if the Maker had something against her. Her need for some physical exertion sang in every muscle, a need she knew from experience would burn off the vestiges of an only half remembered but still familiar nightmare. Sighing she pulled the flap of her tent open and sat, staring moodily out at the steady sheet of rain revealed by the lantern’s meager light and waited.


	11. Chapter 11

Fenris and Warrick shared an ironic look when the rain started, catching them about half way across the camp to their tents. Without word they both broke into a run, both trying to keep to those spaces where the trees caught the rain and kept the ground below dry. Neither man said anything when Warrick peeled away, headed for the tent he shared with his wife and their young daughter. Over the time they had shared together because both men tended to volunteer for guard duty, they had developed a comfortable understanding that didn’t need formalities. Fenris kept his eye on the ground, careful not to trip in the dim half-light as he sprinted for his tent. He didn’t notice Hawke, sitting looking somewhat dejected until she called his name. Pulling up short, he looked at her a moment.

“You’re starting to look like a drowned dog Fenris,” Hawke teased lightly as she waved him over.

Thinking she was probably right and curious what she might want after their words yesterday, Fenris decided to take her up on the offer. He still had a decent distance to his own tent and the rain if anything was starting to come down harder. She retreated into the tent so that he might get in without brushing the canvas and possibly destroying its waterproofing. Standing just inside, dripping on the tent’s raised wooden flooring, he watched as she dug through a chest and tossed a thick towel at him. Catching it, he considered it a moment, and then raised an eyebrow at her as he sat it on the table to pull off his gauntlets.

“Isabella,” Hawke waved vaguely in his direction as he used the soft cloth to dry his hair. “She likes to bring me things. Says that just because I live in the woods doesn’t mean I have to act like it. Chances are she’s stole them from some Tevinter ship. She doesn’t much care for pressing Qunari.”

Looking again at the towels in his hand, Fenris considered that a moment.

“No one with good sense cares to press Qunari Hawke,” Fenris finished wiping off his face and handed the towel back before reaching back to pull his sword and stand it against a table that was near the door. “They frown on it and have ways of making their displeasure known.”

“You,” Hawke fired off a crooked grin at him, watching him unbuckle his breastplate. “Don’t seem to mind them frowning.”

“Well no,” Fenris agreed as sat his breastplate next to his sword, knowing she was referring to him volunteering several times to go on raids on Qunari holdings. “But that doesn’t mean I much care for the thought of fighting them. They actually give me more pause than Magisters do.”

“Why is that?”

“Because Hawke,” he grumbled, “Magisters trust implicitly in their magic, the way your father warned you not to. They fight for themselves and their own personal power. The Qunari….”

“Fight for a grander purpose,” Hawke finished for him when he trailed off.

“Yes,” he nodded a little surprised, “They do.”

Hawke nodded and pointed Fenris to the chair that sat next to the table as she settled on the end of her rope-bed.

“I had cause to deal with an Arishok in Kirkwall,” she explained softly.

Fenris couldn’t quite help the surprised expression that stole across his face.

“An Arishok? In the Free Marches? And freely speaking with an apostate?”

“It’s a long story Fenris and not one either Isabella or I care to have bandied about. Our threats to poison his ale are the only thing that keeps Varric from shouting it from the tops of even these trees.” Hawke sighed and stared off into a distance that was much further than the side of the tent. “I would hate to hear how he would tell it anyway.”

“I would hear this story Hawke,” Fenris was honestly curious. “I have only had dealings with Arishok on the battlefield. They are worthy opponents. And,” he gestured to the heavy, steady rain that showed no signs of ending soon. “We have nothing but time.”

Hawke shot a steady look at Fenris, one that was fraught with conflicting thoughts and that he met without hiding his curiosity. Finally she sighed, looking down at her hands a moment as she composed her thoughts. If this was the price she would have to pay to have a civil conversation with this man, then perhaps it was time to drag this story out into the light. So long as Varric wasn’t the one telling it anyway.

“Well this one was as worthy an opponent with words as he was with weapons,” Hawke started. “Our meetings tended to end up a riddle of words and thoughts, neither one of us convincing the other of anything. He did tell me that I was more Qunari than I cared to admit….”

* * *

The rain had ended hours earlier but neither of them had noticed, completely absorbed in the tale that Hawke told. She did her best to remember even little details because Fenris had no problem stopping her to ask pointed questions. She vaguely touched on things that she would have preferred to not have to remember and knew that the quick minded elf would notice but he seemed content to let her skim over some things. His questions fell away when she reached the crescendo, telling of the Qunari invading the city, intent on bringing the teachings of Koslun to the Free Marches since they were unable to retrieve his text any other way. And so absorbed was she on the telling that she honestly forgot about the listening elf, just reliving it in words the way she rarely relived it in memory. It wasn’t something she often thought on, and was not something that was widely known among the Fog Warriors.

“And that,” she finally finished with a deep sigh, “Is the story of how an apostate ended up the Champion of Kirkwall.”

Fenris just shook his head as he took in what he’d been told, silent for a long while as he processed it all.

“You defeated an Arishok in single combat for the sake of a thief, one that brought the entire situation down on the heads of every innocent person in Kirkwall?” he finally asked. “Protected her even after?”

“Yes.”

“Venhedis Marian!”

“She was,” Hawke paused and corrected herself, the flash of her eye almost defiant, “ _Is_ my friend. She made a mistake and she did her best to put it right…”

“After bringing the wrath of the Qun down on your heads…”

“But I wasn’t going to see her punished by _their_ hands. What she did was reprehensible, even I admit that. But she didn’t understand exactly what it was she had stolen, didn’t understand its importance to the Qunari or that they would hunt her and that book until the end of time.” Hawke’s back went up again at just the thought of Isabella indoctrinated in whatever fashion the Qun would see fit to use. “For all her faults Isabella has always had my back, and that day I had hers.”

“And how close did your loyalty come to costing you your life?”

“That doesn’t matter, and it’s not the point!” Hawke argued, suddenly pointing a finger at him as she went on. “Go wave that big sword at Varric and see how fast I lay _your_ ass down.”

Fenris blinked at Hawke a moment, suddenly reminded of a stray cat that the kitchen slaves had fed. The creature would prance and purr and submit to any affection that even the children would heap on it. Anyone else had best not get within striking distance because the animal would arch and hiss and fluff itself into this enormous cloud of attitude and claws that Fenris had never cared much to test. He suddenly had no doubt that Hawke would do just as she said, or would try her best anyway. ‘What,’ he thought suddenly, ‘Must it be like to have someone care that much? That they would sacrifice anything for your sake?’ He suddenly felt a shot of jealousy fly through him that someone as unworthy as Isabella had something like that and had to take a moment to squash it.

“Truce,” Hawke finally announced, realizing that they were going to have to agree to disagree about her motives in fighting the Arishok. “I did what I did, it’s over and done and can’t be changed now. But that is why I understood something of the Qun long before coming here. I disagreed with it in general although even I have to admit that sometimes I did agree with the principles. I still do, and it’s one reason I am here. If the Qunari take Seheron from Tevinter there will be nothing to stop them from trying to take the continent.”

“And,” Fenris mused, “There are few there that are prepared to fight the Qun, especially now that there is open war between the Mages and the Chantry.”

Hawke nodded grimly, unwilling to go into her own involvement in that turn of events unless Fenris asked. He didn’t seem to know that the entire mess had started in Kirkwall so that at least she wasn’t going to have to relive today. For his part Fenris was pleased. He’d learned much today, about Hawke, the Qunari and the place she had called home until deciding to come to Seheron. It still didn’t answer _why_ she had decided to abandon her adopted home, but every little piece of this puzzle seemed to just lead to more. Leaning back in his chair, Fenris regarded Hawke thoughtfully before deciding on what to say. He had considered this several times during the night, realizing that what he had thought yesterday was correct.

“Thank you Hawke,” he suddenly said. “I very much enjoyed that.”

Hawke shot a wry look his way, not sure how to take that. He wasn’t calling her a complete idiot for standing up for those she cared most for anymore, so that was progress wasn’t it? So pleased with herself for having not only having appeased the broody elf’s curiosity but also for having dug into her past without anything untoward happening, she was completely unprepared for him to go serious again.

“I have decided something. You do not like to relive your past any more than I do mine, so it is only fair that I sacrifice the same. What would you like to know?”

Fenris watched with no small fascination and satisfaction as Hawke’s face went through several stages of several emotions before finally settling on mute, blank surprise. She sat and blinked several times, and then her face twisted up in consternation as she tried to think of something to ask. She knew so very little of him that she had no clue where to even start. The most obvious would be the lyrium but one thing Hawke prided herself on was never doing the obvious unless no other option presented itself. Suddenly inspiration struck and without thinking through the consequences she forged ahead.

“If you can’t remember anything before those,” she pointed at the tattoos on his arm, “Then what are your first memories?”

Now it was Fenris’s turn to set his face in blank surprise. He hadn’t expected that. He knew there was any number of things she could ask, but he had suspected that she would ask about the tattoos, maybe even Hadriana, but not that. Not yet anyway. Sighing heavily, he considered her question, telling himself a promise was a promise.

“The first things I remember are pain. Deep and abiding pain that burned like the worst spell any Mage could muster and never seemed to end. I can remember wanting to scream, might have for all I know, there was this sound in my head that blocked out everything. I know now that is the sound of the lyrium but then it was so all consuming,” he started haltingly. Hawke watched as his eyes suddenly went inward, not seeing her or anything else inside the tent. “I do not know how long that went on, could have been minutes, hours or weeks. I do know at the time I did not think it was ever going to end and that I was going to die. I even wished for death a few times, but something held me there, enduring it all.”

“Fenris…”

He heard the discomfort in her voice, but some small and petty part of him said ‘she wanted to know…’

“After that all I remember is Danarius. His voice through the pain, ordering me to do this, try this, do that as he tried to train me to use the ‘gift’ he had bestowed upon me.” He heard the bitterness in his voice and didn’t care. This was the truth of it and no one could take that from him, ever. “It took what seemed like forever for me to get some semblance of control over it and until I did there was no peace. Even when he was gone I was chained to the wall in a corner of his little den of horrors, a place no one ever wanted to go because people rarely came back and those that did were never right again. The pain never went away, not completely. I feel it still though I cannot tell you if it is real or memory now….”

“Fenris!”

He came back to himself with a start, shaking himself free of that room, that time. It was a place so vivid to him that even now he could smell the straw bed and feel the chains keeping him in place when Danarius had thankfully tired of is experiment and had gone off to sleep in his own big, soft bed. Starting back when he realized that what had brought him back to the present was the feel of her hand pressed to his cheek as much as the demanding tone she had used, he stared up at her without thought for what she might read in his expression, far too surprised by the mixture of things he could see warring on her face. Finally her emotions settled on one and the fury he saw blazing from her eyes made him blink and finally find his own footing.

“I most definitely,” Hawke bit out as he reached up and pushed her hand away, “Most _definitely_ made his death too easy.”

Fenris suddenly stood, forcing her to back away much to his relief. This situation had gotten past him and he wasn’t sure how. “The fact he is dead, even if I had nothing to do with it is most pleasing to me.” Pausing to retrieve his breastplate and sword, he decided a strategic retreat was called for. “I need to sleep. And the rain has ended so you can go practice now.”

Hawke nodded, suddenly incredibly tired and wired at the same time. She watched as he disappeared out into a day now fully formed and considered what she had done. A small tight ball of guilt suddenly found a home deep in her gut, living very contentedly with the old anger that Fenris had unknowingly reawakened in her. Growling lowly Hawke quickly grabbed her pouch of throwing daggers and marched past everyone and everything without really seeing or hearing any of them.

Sitting on the step to his own tent, Varric watched as first Fenris had disappeared in one direction, looking like a pack of Mabari were hounding his every step and then Hawke disappeared in the other, looking much the same.  Clucking happily, he finished pulling his boot on and decided to follow Hawke. The she might look ready to kill someone but he had long experience in soothing her ruffled feathers. The elf? Well he might well put that big fancy sword right through him for all he knew.

Isabella was going to be sorry she missed this one.


	12. Chapter 12

Hawke didn’t see Fenris for several weeks after that and she was sure he was avoiding her. Either that or he was stealthier than she thought. One option seemed as likely as the other and since neither would have surprised her in the least she just accepted it. She couldn’t blame him. But she found she rather missed him watching her practice, finding herself looking for him where before she had tried so hard to just ignore his presence. She found herself scanning the crowd at mealtimes though she knew he rarely ate with the rest. Sometimes at night she would hear something that didn’t quite belong and wonder if it was him even though she knew that was ridiculous. Why would he be skulking outside her tent? It was her guilt talking and she knew it.

For his part Varric watched her as she began to eat less, practice longer and brood again. He had thought she was past these dark moods. Once upon a time, even before arriving on Seheron she had spent hours staring into space, living and reliving the past. He knew without her ever giving word to her thoughts that she was looking for that one thing, that one piece of the puzzle that she had missed, that moment when she could have changed the inevitable. It had taken some time for her to put that behind her, as much as she could anyway. Now _that_ Hawke was starting to make a comeback and he just knew it had to do with that elf. She had refused to talk about it, even to the point of pitching a dagger so close it had nicked his ear. So he had left her alone and started worrying instead.

And so when Fenris suddenly reappeared, sitting down next to her at the evening meal, she found herself suddenly unsure what to say or do. Dropping her fork and hiding both hands in her lap so he wouldn’t see them fidget, she stared at her plate and refused to look at him. When Varric, who had been sitting chatting _at_ her in an attempt to engage her in conversation suddenly got up and disappeared, somehow taking several other people from around them with him she knew he was responding to some silent request of Fenris’s. They were as alone as they were likely to get in a crowd. Fenris watched as Hawke seemed to shrink even further into herself, something he recognized from experience and sighed. Varric had been right to seek him out because this was apparently something only he was going to be able to balm, stinging though his own wounds were. These last few weeks he had come to a grudging respect for this mage regardless of whether she made sense to him and was coming to recognize that she had not earned the ire he heaped on her head. Leaning over though he had no real fear anyone was going to overhear in the overall din of the crowd, he also didn’t want her to miss what he was about to say for it either.

“I forgive you.”

Hawke was so startled she jumped like someone had poked her with a stick. Shooting a pained look at him, she shook her head and went back to staring at her plate.

“I don’t. I didn’t think. I do that,” she murmured, “I do that a lot. I guess in a way you should be glad. If I had thought it through I probably would have left you in Minrathous.”

Fenris chuckled, eliciting a rather dark look from Hawke but he was unapologetic. “You know from what I overheard that night on the ship, you rather had thought it through.”

Hawke surprised herself by blushed furiously, knowing he was talking about Hadriana but didn’t comment, especially when after a pause to marvel at the deep flush that colored not only her face but her neck as well, Fenris began chuckling again.

“You know that was what I expected you to ask about?”

Shooting a sideways look at his hands resting relaxed on the table, silently following the lyrium that lined their backs, she shook her head. “It never once occurred to me to ask about her. I more or less put that out of my mind because I was serious when I told Varric I didn’t want to go there. I can’t even begin to imagine….”

“No,” Fenris’s teasing tone disappeared, leaving one that was vaguely hollow. “No you are right and it is for the best that you cannot. Danarius was… paranoid, and not without good reason. It was that paranoia that made him cruel. Hadriana is what he made her. She grew up as his apprentice and he shaped her into something fast witted and vicious. For Danarius pain was a means to an end, for her it is something she enjoys.”

Hawke shuddered as bitterness crept into his voice and he noticed. He still did not understand this woman, but he suspected he’d accidentally found another piece of the puzzle that was Hawke – she took others’ pains into herself. Maybe it was the healer in her but seeing pain apparently brought out her defensive nature in spite of herself. That was why she hadn’t left him, that was why she had argued so passionately for his cause, and that was why she was tolerating his prodding into her past. The thought she might have actually _caused_ pain…. ‘My wounds,’ he realized, ‘Must be overwhelming. I’m not sure this can be fixed.’ Taking a deep breath to steady himself Fenris reached out and hooked her chin, forcing her to meet his eye.

“Look Hawke,” he said candidly, “There was no right or wrong question because there is nothing about anything that happened in all my short memory that was pleasant. Nothing. And none of it is anything I will ever be proud of. I did what I had to in order to survive, but it is the truth and I can’t change it now. I can just deal with it best I can and get on with the rest of it. You _know_ this so please, stop. I’m starting to understand why Varric calls me broody because I look at you right now and I see myself and I don’t want to be responsible for that.” He paused to study her a moment looking at him wide eyed, way too surprised she was having this conversation. Letting his own expression settle into something like sympathy, he stroked his thumb along edge of her lower lip before saying, “I forgive you, for not thinking that day, or the day before when you grabbed my arm, or any other time you acted without considering the consequences. That really is something you need to start working on. It’s… dangerous.”

Hawke just stared at him, throat working furiously and trying to decide what to say. To say that all of this was unexpected was to put it mildly. She was sure that she had inadvertently hit the sort of nerve that would keep him angry at her forever, especially once he had started avoiding her completely. That he would seek her out now, dropping his introverted haughtiness to try and make her feel better about it just stunned her. Finally she decided that she wasn’t going to work it out looking at him. Pulling herself free of him, she looked back down at her plate and the mostly uneaten food that she had spent some time just pushing around and nodded.

“I know,” she finally murmured. “I’ve tried, trust me I have. Just keeps getting me into trouble. Mother used to call me reckless. But sometimes Fenris, you just have to go with your gut. If you think everything through you’ll never get anywhere, you’ll just be stuck in place trying to decide what’s best.”

Fenris sat silently a moment, trying to decide if she was talking about herself or if she was saying something about him as he followed the line of her profile. Finally deciding there was no right answer to that question he stood and held out his hand.

“Some things are just too important to trust to instinct Hawke,” he sighed, thinking that too much of his own abbreviated past was instinct, “Even if your instincts happen to be good.”

Hawke stared at the proffered hand. Maybe it was just that simple. How many times had she held her hand out to him, metaphorically and literally? Only to have him refuse it unless he had no choice? And here he was returning the gesture for the first time, literally when she felt she least deserved it. Maybe it really was just that simple. Reaching out she took it and simply followed his lead.

Varric watched from a distance, leaned against an unused table that was pushed to the edge of the clearing and wondering what exactly it had been that had gotten through to the elf. Their… discussion hadn’t been what Varric would call cordial, but then maybe Hawke was rubbing off on him after all these years. It had just broken his heart to see her sinking back into the mire of depression she had for the most part finally thrown off and the not knowing precisely why had driven the dwarf to complete distraction. Finally, knowing that he wouldn’t get the answers he sought from her, he’d hunted down the elf. He still didn’t know what had happened between the two of them because Fenris had been just as abrupt and threatening as she had but it would seem that they had come to some sort of truce. Watching as Hawke took Fenris’s hand and followed him out of the dining area he thought briefly about following considering what had happened the last time they had been alone, but just as quickly tossed the idea out. Reaching back to run a finger down Bianca’s stock, Varric mused to himself, ‘They’re big kids now.’

Hawke wondered absently exactly where it was Fenris was taking her, but just didn’t have it in her after everything else to put too much thought into it. He led her past several camps before they stepped into one that didn’t have a banked fire because the occupants were all in the dining area. Here the fire was high, a spit across it with something simmering in a cast iron pot that hung from that. Beyond it she quickly recognized Warrick sitting with his young daughter in his lap and his wife quietly and awkwardly working on a lap loom that didn’t exactly fit in her lap thanks to her swollen belly. Warrick was showing his daughter how to braid three strips of leather into a cord she could use to hold things together. Hawke pulled up short before any of them noticed her, vaguely surprised. Fenris just glanced over his shoulder, look inscrutable and tugged gently on her hand.

“Fenris,” Warrick quietly acknowledged the other elf then blinked in surprise as he realized Hawke was behind him.

“Hawke!” The child dropped from her father’s lap and ran straight for her. Without thinking Hawke dropped to a knee and swept the six year old up into her arms, hugging her tightly.

“Hello Bluebell,” Hawke murmured softly. “What have you been up to?”

“Daddy was showing me how to make a cord. I need one,” she nodded solemnly. “Jerost gave me a slate and Mommy is teaching me to read and write! But it’s hard to carry and it’s heavy.”

“Maker,” Hawke smiled broadly. “Reading huh? Well when you have the hang of it maybe I can convince Isabella to bring us some books for you! Would you like that?”

As she nodded soberly, her mother stood. “Rionna is… excited about Jerost’s present.” Tansina assured Hawke. “I’m quite sure she will be reading better than us all soon.

Tweaking Rionna’s nose and once again smiling broadly, Hawke sat her on her feet and stood. Looking Tansina over with a critical eye, she remarked lightly.

“Speaking of soon…” she pointed at the woman’s big belly. “I swear you are bigger every time I see you. How are you doing?”

The willowy elven woman frowned and rubbed a hand across her belly as she waved Fenris and Hawke to sit.

“I hate it, not being able to do as I wish. But Maker knows I want to be careful with this one.” Hawke winced internally at the reference to her failed pregnancy last year. “I want a happy, healthy baby brother for Rionna this time.”

Hawke nodded, reaching out and laying a hand on the other woman’s a moment.

“We all want that.”

“Not me,” Rionna chirped. “I want a sister, not some silly boy.”

“We will get what the Maker wills girl,” Warrick crooked a finger at his daughter, calling her back to his lap. “We need to finish this before it is time for good girls to go to bed.”

Sighing dramatically enough to impress even Varric, Rionna went back to her father to finish her cord, leaving Hawke and Fenris to Tansina’s social graces.

* * *

The fire was beginning to burn low now as Tansina and Hawke sat in the warm darkness with Hawke’s hands on the pregnant woman’s belly. The elves had graciously shared the stew that Warrick had put together for the evening meal and Hawke had looked sideways at the man when she realized just how good it really was. Warrick had shrugged uncomfortably but Rionna was fast to inform everyone that her daddy knew how to cook because his mother had been one. Tucking that away for future reference because Warrick rarely spoke of his family, Hawke had to struggle not to look at Fenris. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what might be going through his head.

“There,” Tansina smiled, “Did you feel that?”

Hawke nodded, smiling at the expectant mother with all the joy it brought her to know soon she would be helping to bring another small embodiment of two people’s love into the world. Of all her duties as a healer this was probably her favorite, for all the dangerous mess of it all. Glancing across the fire at where Warrick and Fenris sat quietly discussing a raid that Jerost had planned for a week from now, Rionna curled against her father’s chest sleeping Hawke contemplated not for the first time how did it always happen? This easy segregation of the sexes? She’d always wondered and never quite got an answer that satisfied her. While she mused, Fenris turned his gaze at her, catching her eye with his own. His usual inscrutable expression was back, but she could have sworn that she had seen his mouth curl up slightly as he took in her and Tansina. Turning her attention back to Tansina, with the woman’s permission began to run her hands across her distended belly, feeling for kicks and movements that would tell her the baby’s position.

“Feels like he’s turned,” Hawke mused, “And started to drop. Now that doesn’t mean anything, some babies drop early, but you had better start thinking about getting ready.”

“I know,” Tansina smiled broadly. “We already have most of what we need. And Isabella promised me a little cradle, like you were describing to me. The ones you used in Ferelden. Said she could get them in Antiva.”

Hawke nodded, musing to herself that for all her bluster Isabella really was a soft character underneath. You just had to get through all that unconcealed sexuality in order to see any of it and that in of itself took no small amount of work. Not for the first time Hawke wondered what had happened to her to make her that way but she wasn’t about to go poking into someone else’s past when her own was so painful to her. Pulling herself back out of her musings, she winced a little when Tansina failed to stifle a yawn. Patting the woman’s hand where it rested lightly on top of her belly, Hawke inclined her head towards where the men sat.

“You should go grab those two and get settled in for the night. I didn’t realize just how late it’s gotten.”

“No no,” Tansina shook her head, “Its okay. I enjoyed your visit Hawke, you should come more often.” Pausing to look down at her belly she mused, “Saved me from having to come to you.”

“This is true, but next time I promise I won’t outstay my welcome.”

“Pfft,” Tansina waved a hand, “I enjoyed the company. Fenris is here most nights but let’s face it, unless they are talking armor or swords, those two aren’t much for conversation.”

Hawke chuckled as she stood to help Tansina out of the chair and to her feet, noting again that her ankles were swollen but thankfully not dangerously so. Turning a look at the men, she cocked an ironic eyebrow at no one particular that she had finally resolved a mystery that she had often wondered on – exactly where it was that Fenris disappeared to at meal times. Maker knew he avoided the crowded dining area as much as he could. Warrick noticed and paused whatever they were discussing to unfold gracefully, not even disturbing the child nestled in his arms. After a few warm good-byes Hawke found herself walking back towards her own tent, Fenris still at her side and wondering just what his motives had been in bringing her along. She was pleased to see that he had managed to make at least a few friends over the months he had spent watching her like she was a viper ready to bite at the slightest provocation and she had been working to let him have whatever distance he felt he needed. Fenris did little that wasn’t thought out in advance, or at least it seemed so she knew he had some reasoning and wondered if he was going to share.

“I understand you are not going to be accompanying us on the raid,” he finally stated lightly.

“No,” she sighed. “Tansina is too close and she’s had too much trouble in the past. When Rionna was born, they both very nearly didn’t survive. And the last….” She trailed off, still touched by guilt that she hadn’t been able to save their son. “I won’t risk it.”

“I am glad,” Fenris nodded. “Warrick would worry.”

Hawke chuckled, causing Fenris to look sidewise at her. Hawke just shook her head and kept going, not willing to share that what she found funny was that such a serious and ferocious man could be brought to such distraction by such a tiny woman, two of them in fact and possibly three though Tansina wished so fervently for a son.

“I am rather fond of Warrick; we both arrived here about the same time,” she finally murmured as they came to her tent. “We learned lay of the land here so to speak together.”

Fenris cocked his head at that, thinking back to Warrick’s words the night he had stood guard over Fenris, both men listening intently to the arguments inside the tent that would determine Fenris’s fate and what Warrick had had to say about Hawke.

“He is rather fond of you too.”

“I, for one,” Hawke smiled brightly, “Am in love with his daughter. She is just too cute.”

Fenris contemplated that a moment, he’d never been very comfortable with the company of children. He couldn’t remember his own childhood and couldn’t ever quite figure out how to deal with them. That he had seen perfectly rational adults suddenly become complete buffoons all in the service of children completely escaped him.

“She is precocious that is a fact,” he finally admitted. “But I suspect she’s a little afraid of me.”

“What makes you think that?” Hawke couldn’t imagine Rionna afraid of anyone.

“She just looks at me.” He decided not to mention the wide-eyed silent part of it.

“Well,” Hawke chuckled, sitting down on the step to her tent, looking up at Fenris. “It could be because you always look… severe?”

Fenris’s brows drew together, but he didn’t comment.

“Well Fenris, you spend most of your time looking like you would rather chew glass than speak. It puts people off.” Hawke shrugged. 

“Didn’t put you off,” Fenris snorted rudely and crossed his arms.

“See there you go, looking severe.” Hawke laughed lightly. “And no, it didn’t put me off because I know that trick. My brother liked to use it, usually against me.”

Fenris’s eyebrows shot up and Hawke waved a hand dismissively.

“No, we didn’t always get along. Carver always thought that he was living in my shadow and nothing he would ever do would measure up to Marian. It got… old.” She shrugged. “He eventually joined the Templars to get away from it, from me. Not like the apostate sister could run over to the Gallows to visit or anything. We lived in the same city and didn’t see each other for years, not until the Qunari thing. I’m sure that made his life interesting, having Meredith know that his sister was an apostate and he hadn’t turned me in. Not that she could do anything about it since I was Champion then. Nothing but watch anyway.”

“I am surprised this woman stayed her hand.”

“She didn’t have a choice. Mages being Champions is not unheard of but they were always Circle mages. An apostate mage… well,” Hawke shrugged and looked towards the firepit. “If she had raised a hand to me most of Hightown, damn near all the Ferelden immigrants and a fair portion of Lowtown that had been privileged to hear Varric’s ‘tales’  would have raised up and thrown her down and she knew it. She was stuck with me. So she set the Templars to watching me.” She snorted harshly. “Not that it did them much good. If I wanted free of them it was never that hard. I may not be so good at sneaking up on people like you are, but if I want to lose someone, they won’t find me.”

When Fenris didn’t say anything she glanced up at him to find his face drawn into introspection. ‘I know this,’ he thought though he couldn’t place it. He might have rarely paid attention to the slaves and hirelings that came and went through Danarius’s life beyond their potential threat, but he’d always paid attention to Magisters. Not only were they _always_ potential threats, they were the ones with something to say and more often than not they would say it. Somewhere he had overheard a story about an apostate Champion. It hadn’t been until days after she’d told him the story that he realized it, but it had nagged at the back of his mind ever since. Shrugging it off because he knew he wasn’t going to work it out right now, he looked down to see Hawke watching him. Deciding not to comment on her evading skills or what sounded like spiteful siblings to him, he instead went back to the original topic.

“I am no more ‘severe’ that Warrick.”

“Yes,” she nodded, “You are. Me? I’m a special case. After facing down darkspawn, abominations, Templars not to mention their Knight Commander and lest we not forget my loving brother what’s a lyrium laced elven warrior with a really heavy sword and scowl to match? Besides, Warrick is her father. She’s used to him. You might try asking what she is doing. Rionna loves to explain things.”

Fenris ignored her flippant remarks and not at all sure that he wanted to have a six year old explain anything to him, he nodded and kept his expression neutral. He liked Warrick because the elf understood some of what Fenris was going through even if they never discussed it. And he was becoming fond of his family as well even if his daughter did look at him like she was expecting him to bite. ‘Maybe,’ he thought, ‘It never bothered me that people were put off before, but this little girl… her round eyed looks do.’ Looking at Hawke again he realized something. ‘It bothers me the same way seeing Hawke in such a black mood because she knew she’d hit a nerve did.’ Shaking his head at himself he thought, not for the first time that this freedom thing was… complicated.

Hawke watched as Fenris thought that over and after a few moments came to the conclusion that he might worry this idea like a Mabari hound did a bone. Regardless of what decision he came to she knew that Rionna would eventually come around. Curiosity was the nature of children and Rionna was far too friendly a girl to keep anyone at a distance. Stifling a yawn, she finally stood.

“Well, I think I have had about enough excitement to last a week today,” she paused to smile hesitantly at the man who still stood arms crossed and looking about as friendly as a Qunari warrior. “Thank you for taking me there. I needed to check on Tansina and I really did have a nice time.”

Fenris nodded, diverting his eyes down. He was suddenly unable to meet her eye though he had no idea why.

“I did as well.” It came out gruffer than he had intended but Hawke didn’t seem to pay any attention. Maybe she was right. It wasn’t really his intention to scare anyone in the camp; he owed them all far too much for their acceptance, grudging though it may be. Maybe he owed them more than he had thought.

Still wondering why it was he’d taken her, Hawke waited a few moments to see if he would say anything but when he didn’t she decided not to ask. Instead she wished him pleasant dreams and retreated into her tent, leaving him standing alone and trying to decide what to do with himself now.


	13. Chapter 13

As the sun began to warm the sky from its nighttime slumber, putting stars to sleep one by one Hawke sat on her bed, lantern glowing warmly though its warmth was lost on Hawke. In her lap was a book, one she hadn’t thought about for several months. It was one of four she had picked up and tossed in her pack the night she had killed Danarius. She hadn’t really looked at them then and had thought because of the expensive leather bindings they might be worth something, but once on the ship she had realized they were nothing but notes written in the man’s own hand and had tossed them aside and forgotten them. She had been restless this evening and had started going through things that had accumulated in her tent and come across them. Without thinking much about it she had flipped to the first page and began reading. Now, many hours and two and a half journals later she sat both transfixed and repulsed.

They were copious notes taken as Danarius researched and experimented in his quest to create what was essentially Fenris. The demented Magister had been working for decades to perfect not only the ritual that would place the markings under the skin but also to perfect the markings themselves. Apparently Fenris wasn’t the only lyrium warrior to exist but they were so rare as to be almost non-existent. And there were reasons for that which had nothing to do with the prohibitive cost of the lyrium. The brands that vined around Fenris were their own language, one that the lyrium understood according to Danarius and unless each line, swirl or dot was placed perfectly the words and phrases they represented would be incomprehensible and the experiment a failure. According to these books, more than a few slaves had died in his mad attempts over the years, and not always from the ritual or its failures. At least two had had to be killed because they had gone mad from the pain they endured both during and after the attempts.

Danarius had finally come to the conclusion that what he needed was no garden variety slave. What he needed was a warrior, not just one with prowess but one with the mental fortitude to survive having his body raped by lyrium. And he had set about searching with a single mindedness that bordered on mania because to him cost was of no concern. He’d even gone so far as to start buying children and raising what was more or less his own personal household army from scratch. And that was where he’d found Fenris.

And his name _wasn’t_ Fenris. Wherever that had come from, his own mother had named him Leto.

Leto hadn’t come to him during his searches for suitable children, he’d become a part of Danarius’s household by chance. His father had died owing Danarius coin and his wife had no choice but to indenture herself and her children to the Magister to pay off the debt. She had to have seen the advantage that the household guards had and known that once the debt was paid and their freedom returned her son could go far with those kinds of skills. So when Danarius had chosen to put Leto in his brutal training program the elven mother had probably been relieved, never knowing what awaited her son.

And Leto had thrived. Long before he had ultimately been chosen, Danarius had taken note of him, writing that the boy had remarkable ability both with the sword and in handling the sometimes seemingly impossible tasks set before him to test both his mental faculties and physical fortitude. The boy had come to them already knowing both Arcanum and the common tongue and with an impressive understanding of the language of numbers though he did not know how to read or write. Long before the contest that would settle who was to be his latest test subject Leto was his favorite and Danarius often made note of him as he grew from a child of eight years to a young man of sixteen.

That was the year that Danarius decided to further test his children, this time with a contest. He’d told them that they would fight each other to the death and the winner would not only become the Magisters personal bodyguard, he would also have a boon, anything they wanted without consideration for the price. The only stipulation was that the winner would become a slave to Danarius permanently. And Leto, having only known the best of Danarius over the years as he was trained, fought. He had fought one after the other of the young men that he had until then called friends because in his heart he’d had a cause – his family. He could, by selling himself and unknowingly putting himself on the slaughtering block free them decades early from their own servitude. He had fought until he could barely lift the sword for his weariness, but still he fought. And he had won. Danarius had been so pleased that he had written a complete accounting of the contest, detailed down to the wounds that Leto had received and still had continued without healing.

Hawke shut the book at that point and closed her eyes. She didn’t need to read further, she was sure that what was contained in the last book would be an accounting of the ritual and its aftermath. Fenris himself had begun a recounting of that to her and what he had told her was more than enough. Staring at the expensive bound leather she knew she had to give these to Fenris. These books held keys to his past and she had had them sitting in a chest all this time without even knowing it. She knew he couldn’t read, not only did Magisters frown on anything that might give slaves a sense of worth but Danarius had wrote it in his own hand. Regardless these belonged to him. After everything he’d endured, he deserved to have them, deserved to know that he _did_ have a family out there somewhere.

But here was the kick – how was she going to tell him? There was no way to give them to him without admitting she’d read them. To him they would be useless without knowing what was contained inside. She couldn’t see him reacting well to the knowledge that she knew more about him than he did himself, even with this tenuous understanding they seemed to have come to. Deep in thought, Hawke never noticed the gradual shift from the sounds of the night to the morning songs of the creatures of the rainforests. Never noticed when around her people began to stir and then go about their normal day. And she only vaguely noticed when someone began scratching at her tent until the sound was repeated and her name called.

“Hawke?” It was Varric and she released a breath that had caught in her throat at the thought it might be Fenris. “You in there?”

“Yes yes,” she replied, “Come on in.”

“When you weren’t at the practice field this morning I thought I’d better come check,” he chided as he pushed his way into the tent, “Make sure that surly elf of yours hadn’t hung you by your bootstraps from the top of a tree.”

“Surly?” Hawke smiled shaking her head. “Usually its ‘broody’.”

“That too,” Varric fired back without missing a beat as he climbed into a human sized chair. “He’s nothing if not multifaceted.”

Shaking her head her eyes fell on the book she still held clutched in her lap. Cocking an eyebrow and sliding her eyes sideways she saw that Varric already had the ‘okay out with it’ look he carried when he knew there might be some gossip involved. And since he could see that Hawke was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday and it was obvious by the lines around her eyes she hadn’t slept, there was something there.

“Hypothetical,” she stated flatly, trying to keep a neutral tone. “If I were to find out something about someone they didn’t know, but I know it’s going to upset them, probably at me for knowing in the first place as much as for what it is, should I tell them?”

Varric’s eyes narrowed as he regarded his friend, trying to read into her tells as much as anything and to his surprise he was getting not much.

“Does this have to do with the possibly dangerous, usually surly, definitely broody, and according to Isabella tasty former elven slave?” When Hawke paused Varric cackled gleefully. “It is! I knew that man had a worthy past!”

“No Varric, you are not going there. You just have to trust me on this one, you don’t _want_ to go there.”

It was hard to tell whether it was the steely hard tone or the vehemence she used, but Varric was pulled up short, his mouth bowed into an ‘O’ of surprise. He knew Marian Hawke, knew she had a protective streak half a mile wide but she usually reserved it for those who weren’t able to defend themselves. That she was sitting there looking like housecat that was daring someone or something to test her over an elf who had proven himself more than capable of taking out the entire camp if he so chose pulled him up short. And made him wonder even more what there was to protect? Deciding that vigilance was the better part of valor this time Varric turned his head away with overly dramatic indifference and waved a dismissive hand.

“Whatever you say Hawke,” he sighed. “But if it were me, I’d tell him. Throw the cards down and see what happens. What’s the worst that _can_ happen?” Pausing Varric mused to himself. “I cannot believe I just said that.”

“The worst that can happen is he really does hang me from a treetop by my bootstraps. Or leaves I guess.” Hawke muttered. “He’s not going to be happy no matter what.”

“Well then, oh Healer,” Varric shot her a wry look. “Can I suggest lancing the boil quick and having done with it? Faster it drains the less pain involved.”

Hawke threw a steady look at the dwarf, not entirely sure his analogy was too far off the mark but fairly sure that no matter what there would be no lessening this pain.


	14. Chapter 14

Hawke paused to look around the large tent that served as the infirmary for the camp. Shelves lined every wall, mostly filled with the raw ingredients needed to make the various ointments and medicines that were often needed to care for the Fog Warrior camp. There were three healers in the camp at the moment but Hawke was the only one that could call on the Fade to knit bone and muscle. The others were trained in the ancient arts of encouraging the body to heal itself and she had learned much from them. Sometimes it was better to let nature take its course rather than to use magic to force it along. Today they were preparing a kit for the raiding party, one that would hopefully patch any problems that might occur well enough to get them home. Hawke felt a little stab of guilt that she wasn’t going but knew that her decision could well save Tansina and her child.

It had taken most of the morning to get everything ready for the party’s departure early the next day and by the time it was complete the humid heat of the day had settled in. Sweaty and feeling a little out of sorts, Hawke considered returning to her tent to take a nap. The heavy decision to tell Fenris about the books had literally sapped her strength and had caused her more than one sleepless night as she tried to work out how to tell him. Tired as she was physically she knew that if she tried to sleep her brain was going to keep going back to the books that lay on the table, wondering what wasn’t there in Danarius’s neat, bold handwriting. Detailed as his account was there had to be more that he hadn’t been privy to or hadn’t thought important.

Mentally shaking it off, she excused herself and decided that she would go consult Warrick. He seemed to be closer to the tattooed elf than anyone. During the months they had been ignoring each other, the two men had forged a friendship so maybe he would have a suggestion about how to tell Fenris because Hawke was a shade bit intimidated by the entire idea. When she arrived at their tent, Warrick wasn’t there but Tansina was back in her chair, hidden in the shade of the trees once again with her lap loom. Rionna was nowhere to be seen.

“Hawke,” Tansina smiled. “I was just thinking of you!”

“Good, bad or indifferent?” Hawke teased lightly as she sat next to the woman who looked none the worse for the wear in the heat. Hawke often envied the elves that not only seemed to not mind the sometimes sapping heat, but did it so effortlessly.  Their lissome bodies just seemed to adjust to whatever the weather might bring, not just here in Seheron but everywhere. Hawke could remember some brutal cold winters in Kirkwall where humans and dwarves would refuse to venture out unless forced, but the elves had taken it all in stride.

“Oh never bad,” Tansina teased lightly, “And rarely indifferent. You should be wary of that. To be noted is both its own reward and its own curse.”

Hawke paused to look at the astute woman a minute, wondering if she didn’t somehow know more about Hawke’s past than she let on. It wasn’t like she was hiding it because it was there like it or not. It just wasn’t something that she had shared with anyone but Jerost here in Seheron because like Tansina had eloquently stated, it had its own repercussions, its own stigma and she wanted desperately to be known for her own merits, not for the actions of someone else. That was the irony of Kirkwall, she had worked so hard to better herself and make a mark so that her family could enjoy the benefits and in the end it hadn’t mattered. Anders had died sure in the knowledge that it would be _his_ name that spurred the ‘mage revolution’ he had just assured but in reality it was Hawke’s name that fell from the lips of every rebelling mage in all of Thedas. Anders was noted only for the insanity of destroying the Kirkwall Chantry and causing the deaths of hundreds.

 “Are you alright?” Hawke had not realized that her thoughts were so visible until Tansina laid a hand on her knee, looking intently at the Healer. “You disappeared there for a moment. I was teasing you know.”

Hawke waved a hand dismissively and sighed.

“Tansina I have a problem and was hoping to talk to Warrick about it but….”

“He is with the raiding party. They are getting their last minute details worked out with Jerost,” Tansina paused, mouth bowed thoughtfully as she noticed for the first time the weariness that lined Hawke’s face, “But I would be more than happy to listen Hawke. I might even have some sage advice. Rionna is napping so we should not be disturbed.”

Hawke sighed, not sure now where to start. Finally she decided the beginning was as good as any place and she started with the night Danarius had died. The telling took longer than either woman had thought and by the time she got to the sleepless nights, the enduring the story that had ultimately turned out to be Fenris’s own, Rionna was awake and quietly playing on the other side of the firepit where her mother had asked her to please stay and give the adults some ‘quiet time.’ Tansina had listened intently, her soft light brown eyes softened even further with tears on occasion as Hawke related some of what she had read.

“Hawke you must tell him!” The elven woman was quietly adamant, sitting back looking at Hawke with a harsh determination. “This he deserves to know. I didn’t know that he could not remember his past and I am sure Warrick didn’t either. He shares little and I think now I see why.”

“I know,” Hawke nodded then let her head drop. “I just have no idea how. If it were anyone else I would just give him the books at let him read…”

“But he does not know how.” Tansina finished Hawke’s thought, “But he needs to know he may still have a family. That he sacrificed so much for them… no he needs to _know_ this. He needs to _know_ that he is more than the monster that Danarius has made him.” Pausing to gaze at her daughter who, taking her mother at her word was playing with a doll that Warrick had commissioned Isabella to find him for her last birthday, she came to a decision. “But not tonight. They leave tomorrow and it would not be wise for us to divide his mind when so many lives are on the line. But we will find a way when they return. Perhaps Warrick will have a suggestion. I will speak with him.”

“Don’t go giving Warrick something to worry about as well,” Hawke protested. “His life is one of those on the line.”

“I will worry about Warrick,” Tansina smiled knowingly. “You just worry about Fenris. He needs that you know; someone to be concerned for him. And not just because of what happened in the past either, but honestly concerned about his present and future. Because right now ‘future’ is a big word for him. He’s never had one. Until you brought him here he only had a present and a past, and precious little of a past it would seem.” Stopping a moment to shoot an inscrutable look at Hawke, she decided that the truth would be best. “He won’t thank you for it though. Not now anyway, but someday he will. If you wish to take this on you have to be ready for that.”

Hawke let her head fall back, staring sightlessly up into the canopy over their heads and thinking she had already seen what happens when Fenris was in the mind to ‘not thank you’. Was she ready to take on a seemingly fearless elf that grew bolder with every passing day? One that was well nigh incomprehensible to her because he refused to let on what was going on inside that head of his? One with more baggage than even Isabella’s ship could hold? Especially when she had so very much of her own? Closing her eyes she took a deep breath and held it until she could do so no longer before dropping her gaze back to Tansina. What option did she have?

“I don’t really have a choice do I?” she finally said. “I freed him, I brought him here, I browbeat Jerost into accepting him, even took full responsibility for anything he might do. But I didn’t do any of it for his thanks I did it because it was the right thing to do. In a fair and just world that man would be married with a dozen children running around, happy in whatever trade he was taught as a child. He would know how to smile, even laugh.”

“But it isn’t a fair world.”

“This,” Hawke sighed with no small bit of irony in her voice, “Is something that I am intimately aware of. The Maker has a twisted sense of humor to set people on the paths that he does. Mine is as twisted as his. Chance is both our enemies.”

“Then there is no one better to look over him with concern and affection.”

Hawke shot a dubious look at Tansina but never had the chance to voice her own doubts on that subject because Rionna suddenly appeared behind Tansina, wide eyed and clutching her doll to her chest.

“Mamma,” she laid her hand on her mother’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

Her attention immediately diverted, Tansina smiled sadly at her daughter and stroked her cheek reassuringly.

“We were talking about Fenris my sweet.”

“What about him?” Rionna looked from Hawke to her mother, feeling the tension of the previous their conversation in the air and suddenly afraid as only children can be when something was beyond their understanding. “Has he done something bad?”

“No baby, he has done nothing bad.” Tansina glanced at Hawke a moment before continuing. “He is… hurt in a way only big people get. Hawke and I were just talking about that.”

Rionna seemed to accept that, intuitively understanding that she wasn’t really meant to understand, but she trusted her mother to know best. Nodding she laid her head on her mother’s arm so that Tansina could tenderly stroke her hair and give her the reassurance that no matter what, in this moment her world was safe and secure and that those she loved most still loved her most as well. Deciding that this was her cue, Hawke stood and said her farewells, promising to return later after she had tried at least to take a nap like Tansina admonished her to do.

And she had tried, but had been chased out of the Fade by vague images that left her tense and unsettled. Sighing Hawke threw the mosquito netting out of her way and stalked out of her tent, intent on finding something to occupy her time. Deciding ultimately to just walk, she followed a path out of the camp, one that wasn’t well worn but still there. The forest had a habit of reclaiming any space if it was allowed so the fact that it was there at all told her that even though it wasn’t a path regularly followed, it was one that someone regularly used. Lost in her own deep thoughts, of Fenris, of herself, of both their pasts she never saw Fenris leaning against one of the massive trees on the outskirts of the camp, arms folded and face impassive. Seeing her leave the camp alone his eyebrow shot up thoughtfully. As far as he could tell she had no weapons of any significance. Shaking his head that someone with so many years living in this place should know better, he followed her.

* * *

Hawke stared down into a deep hole that the path lead past. A small but steady stream had apparently washed out the top of what looked like a cave and over the years the water from both the stream and the constant rain had nearly filled it in. Wondering absently how deep it went, she wasn’t surprised that this pool wasn’t utilized by the camp for swimming or bathing because the rocks looked sharp, the earth not completely tamed by the force of the water yet. Vines of flowers hung over the lip like a curtain, absorbing the high sun that managed to pierce into the dim gloom below because the cave in had taken out some trees that hadn’t had time to regrow. Following the sides carefully, she found what looked like a safe way into the pool, complete even with a ledge just wide enough for someone to lie down near the gentle fall of water. Tugging with all her weight on the vines that hung down just there, she decided that should worst come to worst, they would hold her weight and she could use those to scale her way out and started down, still holding the vines should something slip out from beneath her.

Reaching the spray dampened and just a little slick ledge, she sat a moment to get her breath. Now that she was down past the lip she could see that the cave was large indeed and went back in one direction much further than the light could penetrate. Down here the sounds of the forest were muted, the rush of water much louder. Deciding that if she had been sweaty before then she most definitely was sweaty now, and when she reached down to run her hand through the water she found it was cool. Standing she began pulling her clothes off.

Fenris, who had been following for some time at a distance, using his keen ears to keep track of her though he suspected he needn’t have bothered she was so distracted by her thoughts , stood watching mutely as she disappeared into the cave. Wondering just what she was getting herself into, he waited until she gone from sight to step out of the trees and look down into the pool she’d found herself. Watching as she inspected her new surroundings carefully, both eyebrows shot up when she began to strip down, even taking off her small clothes before diving into the water. Taking a deep breath and sitting just to the side of the opening on the shadowed side, he watched as she swam, trying hard not to look at exactly those things he found himself wanting to see and mostly succeeding until she rolled over onto her back and let herself just float with the current.

She certainly didn’t look like most Magisters he had seen in the public bathes of Minrathous. Their copious use of magic meant they had voracious appetites and their use of slaves meant they rarely did anything they couldn’t order someone else to do. As a result they usually had soft bodies only partially hidden by the voluminous robes that they wore. Hawke was… lithe, lean muscle where it counted, softened by the curves of her sex where it wasn’t. His eyes fell on her breasts where they just peeked out, the cool water hardening her nipples. Shifting uncomfortably and cursing under his breath, Fenris felt himself flush and turned his eyes away. This was he realized, unfair to her as much as it was awkward for him. Looking back as she finally rolled over and started swimming again, he stood and walked several feet away to sit on a rotting branch which had fallen out of one of the trees to wait.

Hawke was pleased with herself as she pulled herself up the incline, using a vine to make sure nothing untoward happened as she did. She felt ever so much better now, the cool quiet of the cave soothing her mind as well as her body. Even without sleep she might just be able to face the coming evening with something that looked like composure. Standing at the lip she raised her arms above her head and stretched, feeling about as relaxed and content as anyone possibly could.

“Did you enjoy your swim?”

That there was a voice at all surprised her, that the voice belonged to the man who had occupied her thoughts for the last few days just shocked her to the core and she swung around to see him sitting off to the side, hidden in the shadows thrown by the trees and looking like nothing was unusual. Blinking several times as she took it all in, Hawke felt the insane need to cross her arms and cover herself even though she was now fully dressed and couldn’t help but wonder just exactly how much he had seen. He gave no indication at all, but in order for him to know she was swimming he would have had to have looked – wouldn’t he? Glancing down she realized yes, he would have had to look over the lip of the cave in to see anything, or everything depending on your point of view. Though Hawke had thought herself beyond it now, she felt her face and cheeks heating and knew she was blushing furiously which just embarrassed her more and made it just that much worse. Damn the man, this was twice he’d made her do this!

Fenris watched with no small amount of fascination as Hawke’s face went through a litany of emotions until finally settling on red-faced embarrassment. One eyebrow slowly disappeared up under his bangs and he found himself battling to keep a grin off his face. Making this capable woman blush like a child, he decided, was… amusing even if he didn’t actually mean to. Watching as she fought to find something to say he decided that he would let her off the hook and, cocking his head he pointed nonchalantly at one ear.

“Humans tend to forget that elves have very good hearing.” Standing casually he stretched and let a slight smile curve the corners of his lips. “You would not believe the things I hear sometimes.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” Hawke looked at the elf suspiciously, not at all sure she was willing to buy what he was trying to sell and finally deciding this one time? She’d take it, whatever the price. She had other things to worry about and if he did spy on her? What else was new? He’d been watching her from a distance for months now, who knew what he’d seen in that time. “I’ve seen stuff that I will never get out of my head, especially in Antiva.”

Fenris paused to shoot a look at Hawke, the irony of that comment apparent even to him.

“I have seen more than my fair share as well, usually at the public bathhouses that Danarius so enjoyed. All manner of things that I wish sometimes I could unsee.”

Hawke cocked a head at the elf. The public bathhouses of Minrathous were infamous, especially the ones favored by Magisters so Hawke herself had avoided them. Judging by the look on Fenris’s face, she was glad she had.

“Well, I think you might just win the prize for the most…” she struggled a moment for the right wording, “Unnatural, disturbing sight ever then. I heard enough about them to know I never wanted to set foot in one. Not that Danarius didn’t try to get me to go along a few times because he did. My mother might have raised a tomboy more at home in a drunken tavern than a high tea party, but she would have rolled over in her grave and came back to smite me I’m sure.”

“The murals were nice,” Fenris shrugged. “I spent a lot of time studying them to avoid what the Magisters considered mingling. Minrathous might be a city in decline, but at one time it was a shining example of art and architecture. Before they descended into vice and magic the Tevinters were master craftsmen. It’s all still there if you know where to look.”

“You almost sound… proud of the city.”

Fenris shot Hawke a hard look before stopping himself. In a way she was right.

“Like it or not Hawke, it’s my heritage. Or at least what I know of it anyway. I may hate the Magisters and what they have done to their empire, but you have to respect what they accomplished before the insanity took them over.”

“What? Conquering all of Thedas? Enslaving elves and then humans? All in a mad quest to consolidate power?” Hawk snorted rudely.

“No Hawke, they _unified_ all of Thedas, bringing small warring human tribes together under one standard. They brought dwarves out of their holes to help create a single system of currency and trade, not to mention that the common tongue was once a dwarvish construct. Yes they conquered and enslaved my people but in truth the Elvhenan were so insular that they never saw any human as a threat. It was their own willful ignorance that defeated them long before the Tevinters. But had it not been for Tevinter there would be no Thedas at all. All the kingdoms owe their existence in one form or another to Tevinter, either through Tevinter’s use of districts or their fight to free themselves of Tevinter’s yoke,” Fenris shrugged. “Without their unifying influence we might still have little fiefdoms squabbling over who owned what stream.”

Hawke looked at Fenris, sharp eyes seemingly seeing everything until finally he wanted to start fidgeting under her weighty gaze. He could not read her thoughts, wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to. To cover his discomfort he finally held out a hand to indicate that they should be about their way. His ploy seemed to work when she finally nodded and turned her inscrutable gaze to the ground. They walked some distance in silence before she finally decided to speak again.

“You know a lot of history. I mean no offense; I have to ask this because it has been my experience with slaves…. Do you know how to read? Because you sound an awful lot like the Chantry schoolmarm in Lothering did.”

“No,” Fenris shook his head slowly, not sure what a Chantry schoolmarm would sound like. “I know some of the sigils used by the Magisters on their official seals, but not much more than that.”

“That is a shame Fenris, truly it is. If you can absorb and retain that much information simply from hearing it spoken, then you really need to learn.”

Fenris didn’t reply because this was another one of those things he was loathed to ask. The people in the camp were still for the most part wary of him and in his mind Hawke had already done far too much for him without once asking for even a thank you, much less repayment. To read would be a dream come true, one that he had never thought to have a chance at achieving. Sighing to himself he decided that the best response would be none. When he didn’t have anything to say, Hawke let it be. Another time, another place she would broach the subject again and hopefully he would be more receptive.

A thought suddenly occurred to her and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking suspiciously up at the elf.

“You were following me weren’t you?” When Fenris didn’t reply she cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“The guards have seen a tiger in the area Hawke, wandering away from camp alone is not really advisable.” Fenris shrugged and decided on a half-truth. “Jerost plans to warn the camp tonight but we still do not know if it is male or female. Males will move on, females will not.”

Hawke blinked at him a moment, then turned back to the path. Whatever she had expected him to say, that wasn’t it she was sure.


	15. Chapter 15

When Tansina paused in the middle of telling Hawke the story of how Warrick had almost literally not been willing to put his newborn daughter down for days after her hard birth, Hawke shot a worried look at her. Her attention was diverted by something behind Hawke so out of curiosity Hawke followed the line of her eyes and saw Rionna standing off to the side of the men, so obviously trying to screw her courage up that Hawke’s eyebrows drew together. Looking back at Tansina, the other woman held a finger to her lips to keep Hawke from saying anything. Hawke turned her attention back just as the little girl managed to work up her nerve and walk over to where the two men stood talking about something. Stopping between them she stood, neck craned back to quietly look from one man to the other until they finally noticed her presence. Once she knew she was the center of attention she turned her mute contemplation fully on Fenris, silently studying the man for several moments before pulling her hand out from behind her back. In it was a fully bloomed orchid, one of the types that could be found growing all over the place, its petals a dark velvety blue that very nearly bordered on black around the edges but that paled as it worked its way to the center. Rionna paused to look at the flower a moment and then thoughtfully back to Fenris before offering it to him.

Fenris, who had been regarding the little girl with one eyebrow cocked questioningly blinked once, then twice. His eyes shot to Warrick who was by now trying to keep a smile off his face and only partially succeeding, but he did manage a silent shrug to the equally silent question Fenris was asking. Finally, Fenris looked back down to where Rionna stood patiently, still holding the flower up to him.

“My mother says that you are going to go with my Daddy on a raid tomorrow. She thinks you need happy thoughts to take with you because you don’t have anyone. _I’m_ Daddy’s happy thought,” she paused to smile with childlike knowing at her father before looking back at Fenris. “So I brought you a happy thought.”

Fenris frowned at Rionna as she spoke, then shot a look through his bangs to where Tansina and Hawke both sat watching, then went back to Rionna. Looking at the flower, he reached down to gently take it from the little girl. Rionna just nodded and smiled broadly in satisfaction, knowing she’d done a good thing. Still looking at the flower, not at all sure how to take what the little girl had said, Fenris finally nodded. There were worse things than the well-wishes of a child.

“Thank you,” he finally said simply, tucking the flower into his belt. “I will take this with me to remind me of…” he paused before finishing, “Home.” The word felt alien on his tongue but he couldn’t think of better description of the Fog Warrior camp or his still sparsely furnished tent and it gave him pause.

If anything Rionna’s smile broadened again when her father laid a gentle hand on top of her head and affectionately ruffled her hair. Shooting the dark haired elf an adoring look, she giggled and apparently thinking her work here was done, skipped off to find something else to do. Hawke looked back at Tansina, who still had that finger to her lips but now was smiling with no small amount of satisfaction behind it.

“I told her that she should try and be nice to Fenris, that he had come from a hard place, and a hard life, just as her father had and he was trying to find his way,” she murmured. “I _did_ actually say that he needed a happy thought to take with him. Nice to know she actually does listen.”

“He told me he thought she was scared of him.”

“Well I don’t know that scared would be the word,” Tansina shrugged. “He’s…”

“Severe,” Hawke volunteered, remembering what she’d told Fenris.

“Well, yes I guess that works. And those tattoos, she’s never seen anyone with that many of them and I guess it just made her a little wary of him.” Tansina sighed and rubbed her belly thoughtfully. “You remember Warrick, he was the same way. Not sure who was friend and who was enemy anymore, not understanding where his place was in the grand scheme of things. He told me once that it was harder for people who grew up as slaves because there is a comfort in knowing your place and it caused him a great deal of distress that suddenly his idea of himself was completely changed. I think they both came from a place where keeping people at a distance was essential for their sanity and it is very, very hard to learn to trust enough to let that guard down,” she turned her pale brown eyes on Hawke, “Fenris is a good man; he just doesn’t know that yet. He just has to find his place. He has to learn to trust.”

Hawke regarded Tansina a moment, then looked over her shoulder and found Fenris watching her silently, having been abandoned by Warrick when he followed to see what his daughter had gotten into. Blinking at him a moment because his inscrutable look had been replaced by one that was contemplative, she smiled hesitantly at him not at all sure why he would be looking at her that way. Nodding to himself as though he’d come to some decision, Fenris strode their way.

“Women,” he groused with just the barest of smiles, “Do not fight fair, even the little ones.”

“Of course we don’t,” Tansina waved in mock disgust. “Men have all the advantages – strength, size, deep voices that just make your heart quiver. Women have to play to their own skills. Let’s see, there is our beauty, charm, steely determination to get our way….”

“Scheming….” Fenris chuckled.

“Well that too of course,” Tansina laughed. “That absolutely goes without saying! Right along with the walk. Every woman has the walk.”

“What ‘walk’?” Hawke eyed Tansina curiously.

“Well that would be the one with just a little strut and just a little hip. The one that makes men forget what they are doing for just a moment.” Tansina laughed. “You have one Hawke, I’ve seen it myself.”

Hawke snorted rudely now that she understood. She’d seen it happen every time Isabella walked through a crowd and Hawke was unconvinced that she was capable of anything like that. Tansina shot an expectant look at Fenris who in turn blinked at the twist in this conversation and decided he would much rather side with Tansina on this one. It was after all, the truth.

“Yes you do Hawke.”

“What?” Hawke blinked at them both a moment before shaking her head. She wasn’t entirely sure which was worse, that this might actually be true or that Fenris of all people had noticed it. “If I have a ‘walk’ it’s not on purpose.”

“And that,” Tansina teased lightly, “Is why it’s so effective. You do it without thinking about it and it’s just natural. Half the men in the camp would take you in a heartbeat if they thought they might stand a chance. Warrick once told me that to most men there was nothing sexier than a woman that could kick their ass.”

Hawke, who had been trying to hide her embarrassment by taking a drink from her wooden cup, literally choked on that last bit. Sputtering and coughing, she stared at the pregnant elf through tears as she tried to catch her breath and felt yet another blush spreading across her face. Maker what was _with_ her? And what had gotten into the usually mild mannered Tansina? But Tansina wasn’t finished yet.

“You see Fenris, while you men are busy playing with whatever sharp toy you happen to favor, women enjoy playing with a toy of an entirely different sort. That weapon might belong to you, but it is entirely _our_ purview.”

Fenris dropped his head, blinked at the woman through his bangs and chuckled. This he suspected was the Tansina that had attracted Warrick like a magnet, one that had been superseded to a large degree by motherhood, but that Warrick was still privy to. Glancing at Hawke as she finally managed to stop coughing, her cheeks still flaming red, he applauded female elf for managing to make Hawke blush yet again. That a woman her age could still do that fascinated him. Everyone in Minrathous lost this charming ability early in their lives so to see it so often in someone well past that… well he found it appealing.

Tansina was not so proud of herself in her ability to fluster Hawke that she didn’t notice the look that Fenris had as he watched her try desperately to regain her composure, one that darkened the green of his eye. Lips twisting thoughtfully she considered that carefully. Perhaps Fenris might thank Hawke for her concern for his welfare after all. That Hawke was oblivious didn’t surprise Tansina a bit, that Fenris was being circumspect also didn’t shock. ‘This,’ she thought, ‘will need looking into.’

“What under the sun have you done to Hawke woman?” Warrick just looked at Hawke as he appeared behind Tansina, and realizing that all three adults presently in the camp were all watching her just made it worse, so Hawke decided that a strategic retreat was definitely in order here. Excusing herself, she turned to go find a hole to crawl into for a little while.

‘Oh no,’ Tansina thought to herself. ‘This cannot be allowed.’ Turning a hard look at Fenris she cleared her throat to get his attention then cocked her head meaningfully at Hawke’s retreating back. When Fenris just blinked at her, she chuckled and shooed him. “Follow her you idiot,” she finally laughed. “You find her blushes charming then go learn how to get them for yourself. Besides, running off to hide is not an option, for you or her!”

Throwing an odd look at Tansina, a little put out with himself that he had been that easy for her to read, Fenris shook his head at her and tried to decide what would be the right thing to do here.

“You better do as she says,” Warrick warned him with a sigh, still not sure what was going on but knowing his wife like he knew the back of his own hand. “She is not going to leave it be.”

Fenris sighed and as he stood he leaned into where Tansina sat, schooling his face into a look that spoke volumes about women playing with weapons that didn’t belong to them and said simply, “Scheming…” Tansina just twisted her mouth into a wry, self-satisfied grin and met his gaze boldly but didn’t comment. Shaking his head yet again, Fenris turned to follow Hawke.

Warrick watched all of this, slightly confused and totally oblivious to the undercurrent that ran through it all until that last parting shot on Fenris’s part. The light dawned and once his friend was gone Warrick leaned down to whisper in his wife’s ear, “Careful, meddling can get you in trouble.”

“I’m not meddling,” Tansina assured him. “I’m just pushing a little.”

“Same thing,” Warrick snorted.

* * *

Fenris had surprisingly little trouble finding Hawke, she hadn’t wandered far. She was standing in the gloom gathering under the canopy, her forehead pressed against the smooth bark of one of the trees, talking to herself. Deciding to wait her out and see what she did, Fenris couldn’t help but overhear as she cursed, chided and cursed some more, occasionally lifting her head from the bark to tamp it back down again. Finally, after several rounds of this she then settled on a little mantra that she just repeated over and over.

“You can do this without bursting into flames. You can do this without bursting into flames.”

Grinning broadly in the dark, Fenris decided this might be a good time to test his ability. Moving silently he took up position directly behind her and waited. When she finally got control of herself she took a deep breath and held it in, and that was when he leaned forward to whisper gruffly in her ear, “I think I rather like it when you ‘burst into flames’.”

To her credit she didn’t jump this time, simply stiffened up and forgot she was holding her breath until her lungs started to burn. Letting it go with a string of curses that would make Andraste wince, he knew without seeing that he had succeeded when she started mumbling about everyone being out to get her today and letting her head fall against the tree again.

“I’m buying a bell, a big one,” she muttered, “And I’m sewing it to your ear or something. You are just entirely too damn sneaky you… you… elf! Dammit!”

Fenris could not help it - that made him start laughing. It was almost silent but as close as he was to her she heard and glanced over her shoulder to see him trying hiding it behind one hand. Hard as he tried, his jerking shoulders gave him away and the surprised look she was shooting him just made it harder to try and stifle it. When it became infectious and Hawke’s own lips started pulling up he finally gave up and just let it go. Before long they were both holding their sides and wiping tears off their cheeks. Every time it looked like they were going to get control of it, one would look at the other and they would both fall into peals of laughter again.

* * *

Tansina just looked at Warrick a moment, a satisfied look in her eye as they listened to the two of them laugh, honestly laugh at whatever it was that had amused them. It was the first time she had ever heard Fenris do more than chuckle, and it had been ages since she’d heard a belly laugh out of Hawke. Warrick rolled his eyes and patted the hand that lay protectively on top of her belly.

“It is still the same thing.”

“Hmph.”

* * *

By the time the two of them had finally lapsed into exhausted chuckles, Hawke was laying flat on her back and Fenris was sitting cross legged next to her. Both were too tired now to be anything but relaxed, the muscles in their stomachs aching to match those in their cheeks. Laying the back of one hand to her forehead and the other to her stomach, Hawke looked up at Fenris. He still had a grin on his face and she smiled thoughtfully up at him.

“Well if you like it when I blush, I have to say I rather like it when you laugh.” Nodding at him in mock seriousness when he looked down at her, she chuckled when his mouth twisted wryly. “You know I was just wondering… what? About a month ago, the day you decided to scare the piss out of me on the practice field? What you would look like if you smiled.”

Fenris regarded her thoughtfully, a little taken aback that she had really wondered about him at all. He’d been so intent on keeping her at a distance because he couldn’t work her out and now, at this exact moment he was having a hard time remembering why. He still did not understand her, but the more he was around her the easier it was to forgive her for that. Cocking his head, he studied her a moment.

“Why does it bother you so much when you blush?”

Hawke rose up onto one elbow and considered that a moment.

“Because it’s embarrassing. I’m past thirty, I shouldn’t be doing it. And I don’t ordinarily. I have no idea what is going on. Maybe I’m just tired.”

“You know,” he looked up at the darkness creeping over them, “Where I come from it would be considered a sign of weakness, especially in a mage. So families work hard to make sure their children don’t do it. Only very small children do.”

“Well that’s lovely,” Hawke quipped. “I guess it was a good thing I wasn’t doing this in Danarius’s household then isn’t it? And are you comparing me to a very small child?”

“No.” Looking down at her he smiled crookedly. “No, I am not. Tansina is right you know, and that you apparently do it so guilelessly speaks to your character. No I rather find it appealing that you have not had this ability beaten out of you.”

“Sooooo…” Hawke looked up through her lashes at him, “I can expect you to go out of your way to try and make this happen?”

“No, but if it _does_ happen,” he smirked, “You can rest assured that I am going to enjoy every minute.”

Hawke groaned and fell back, staring up into the dark.

“Well if I’m going to have you gawking at me every time I get embarrassed, then we are just going to have to work on making sure you laugh more often. Or at least give a girl an honest smile, not some little quirk of the lip. I mean those ‘show me teeth already’ kinds of smiles.” Silently deciding what was good for the goose was good for the gander, she smirked back at him. “You get the hang of that and there won’t be a woman, human, elven or dwarven that won’t forgive you any sin you might have committed anywhere on all the face of Thedas.” Even in the low light she could see Fenris flush, but she kept that knowledge to herself. Staring back up at the dark canopy, she murmured, “Those eyes of yours alone are enough to set them all to mooning if you would just stop looking all serious.”

Fenris suddenly looked away, his throat working hard as his brands flared dully. No one had ever said such a thing to him.

Most of the slaves, both men and women in Danarius’s house had avoided so much as looking at him directly, most shooting glances out of the corner of their eye even when he was directly addressing them. Hadriana had often explained to him while she was laying her foul hands on him that she was doing him a kindness because no normal woman would ever find him attractive. Danarius had often commented that he felt elves were downright ugly though it never stopped him from using Fenris in much the same fashion as Hadriana. Without a frame of reference, or even a mirror to look into, Fenris had no one else’s word but theirs.

When Fenris went completely still and his markings began to glow, Hawke shot a serious look at him. When she saw he had his head bowed and slightly turned away from her, the saddest look she could ever remember seeing anywhere on his face, she sat straight up. Without thinking, she laid a hand over his where it lay on his knee and pulled it towards her and folding both hers around it.

“What?” Her voice was very small, convinced she had done something horrible. “Did I say something wrong?”

Fenris didn’t speak, instead he just shook his head as he tried hard to reign in the things her words had loosed in his soul. Sighing, he looked at Hawke sideways, trying to get a feel for what she was thinking but all he saw was her concern. It creased her brow and caused lines where none existed before and seeing them there just made him feel worse. Cursing under his breath he considered following her lead earlier and beating a hasty retreat, but Tansina’s words came back to him so instead he held firm. He hadn’t allowed Hawke to run and he wasn’t going to run from her.

Hawke just watched as thing after thing crossed his face and it saddened her to see that he was so upset he couldn’t even manage his usually neutral expression. Just when she thought she was going to have to ask again, he spoke, his voice harsh.

“Is what you say true? Am I… pleasant to look on?”

Hawke’s eyebrows just about climbed right up into her hairline to hear the normally confident, even bold man asking her if he was handsome in such a way. Closing her eyes to hide the bolt of anger that went through her, she took a deep breath and cursed Danarius’s soul, may it have no peace. Sighing, she opened her eyes and reached out gently to turn his face to hers, so that what she was about to say would not only have the weight of her words, but also the volume of her expressions as well.

“Fenris, if anyone told you that you weren’t, they lied. Everything about you is frankly striking, from that shaggy hair of yours right down to those long toes. And that doesn’t even include the interesting marks that want to glow at the oddest times.” When he didn’t respond to her quip, she realized that deep in his soul he needed to hear it. Looking up she reached out to brush his bangs back gently and was surprised at how thick his fine hair was, and soft. When he made no protest she decided if he was going to allow her this liberty when ordinarily he avoided physical contact she would keep stroking his hair. When her finger lightly brushed the shell of his ear he shuddered, sighed brokenly, and let his eyes slide shut. Since he seemed to like that, she let her finger continue to brush past the edges of his ear as she toyed in his hair.

“Fenris,” she finally murmured her own voice deeper than she remembered. “You have eyes that sane women would just want to drown in, and the color? It reminds me of the Wilds in Lothering, deep and sometimes foreboding. And this hair… the color is striking, I can’t remember ever seeing anyone with hair this color and it is so soft, like silk. Your jaw is strong; I can’t recall the elves at home having such strong jaws, or strong chins for that matter…” She paused when the hand still clasped in one of her own suddenly came to life, closing over hers where before it had been limp, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. “It speaks to your Tevinter heritage. Your mouth… those full lips of yours are about the envy of every woman who has ever set eyes on you.” Sighing and painfully aware of just how erotic this had become she pushed on, almost afraid to stop now. “As for the rest of you, you are deceptive, like most elves. You all look… delicate, like a hard wind would blow you away, but that is about as far from the truth as you can get. Everything is lean compared to human men, but when you move you can just see the strength, muscles rippling under skin that looks smooth as glass. Even your hands are elegant, like those long fingers should be playing an instrument not wielding a weapon….”

Her voice failed her when his eyes suddenly opened, gazing deeply into her own. Their color had darkened, looking more like the alpine forests of the Free Marches now and her mouth went dry. Slowly, like he was giving her the option to run, his free hand reached out and he ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek, stopping to run his pinky lightly against her lips, his intense gaze never leaving hers, pinning her in place as sure as any chain. Swallowing hard, she managed to loosen the tightness in her throat enough to whisper his name but didn’t even recognize her own voice. He recognized it though, somewhere inside him where instinct lived he knew that deep breathy tone and his eyes darkened even further as his hand slipped around to cup her at the nape of her neck and pull her to him. Only then did his eyes leave hers to focus on her mouth as his own closed in, slipping gently over and claiming it as his own.

Hawke could think of nothing now, she was drowning in Fenris, the feel of him, the taste of him, the smell of him all swirled together to take any and all fight she might have had right out of her. Instead she submitted and when the tip of his tongue ran lightly along her bottom lip she surrendered even that, and he deepened the kiss. Somehow she found herself in his lap, pulled there while her attention was so focused on him and all the things he’d managed to effortlessly awaken in her, things she’d thought long dead. One hand was buried deep in her hair while the other cradled her tightly to his chest, her own hand was trapped between them. Under her palm she could feel the race of his heart, mirroring the pulse that pounded in her own ears. Her other hand was still buried in his hair though stroking wasn’t what it was doing now, now it was clinging to his tresses like they were a lifeline, one there to stop her drowning in the intense sensation of this man’s gentle, passionate kiss. Without thinking her hand loosened its grip and brushed more boldly against his ear, following it up to its tip, then over to stroke down to his earlobe.

A deep, almost sub audible rumble started in his chest at the gentle touch, growing in intensity until finally he gasped into her mouth. Hawke now understood - touching this man’s ears wasn’t something he simply enjoyed, it was something deeply erotic to him. The sound he made spoke to something intensely feminine in her, something that thrilled at having such force over so a powerful man with something so simple as a touch. She wanted it again, wanted it with fervency that surprised her and without a thought to the consequences she cupped his ear in her hand and let her thumb begin tracing every crease and line she found there. Her reward was almost instantaneous as he groaned and pulled his mouth from hers, eyes closed and expression intent on the sensation she was evoking. Drinking in the sight of him so relaxed and yet so passionate in the silvery light his brands were still throwing, she knew that every word she had spoken to him was the truth even if he didn’t understand it. He was one of the most attractive men she had ever laid eyes on and seeing him like this, vulnerable to her and her alone just made her want more of him. When her eyes fell on the pulse of his throat, fluttering against the cage of lyrium that covered it and in concert with the pounding under her hand her mouth began to water. Turning her head she pressed her lips against it, nuzzling under his jaw. The hand in her hair tightened but otherwise he made no move to protest and she let her lips follow the lyrium brands, brushing lightly and occasionally letting her teeth or tongue graze at the sensitive skin, feeling him swallow hard when she did. Finally she found herself at his chin, and looking up she discovered him looking back, his dark eyes shining with the passion he felt, no longer just intense - they were predatory.

The hand that pulled her head back, arching her neck was no longer gentle, nor were his lips when they slanted over hers. This kiss was demanding where the other had been tender, this one knew what it wanted and was not afraid to go and get it. This was the Fenris with which she was familiar and as eager as her body had been to his gentleness, this insistent desire to wrench every response he could from her fired her blood and made her whimper with her need for more. Once again she felt as much as heard a deep rumble in his chest in response to her, and she couldn’t stop herself from thinking of her comparison between him and a caged tiger. He was certainly purring now.

That was when he suddenly tore his mouth from hers with a groan of frustration that she felt echoed in her chest. Burying his face in her hair he panted, trying to get control of himself. Her words, her voice, her… touch, his own weakness had been his undoing he knew, sure as he knew she had no idea that elven ears were sensitive in more ways than just the one. This might be a mistake but right now he was incapable of turning her loose, just as he’d been helpless to tell her to stop. Even now he held her tightly to him, feeling every soft curve, smelling the soap she used and that indefinable tang that was her own scent, hearing her own harsh gasp as she tried to understand what was happening. Finally, drawing in a deep, ragged breath, he decided to leave the decision with her and whispered huskily, “Tell me to go and I will.”

The ‘no’ that sprang immediately and unbidden to her lips died before she could voice it. As reluctant as she was for him to stop, his reluctance to continue even in the face of his own arousal made her pause.

“Why should I?”

Fenris stifled a groan and swallowed audibly before deciding the truth was his only defense. Even now he was not in complete control of himself, evidenced by the light of his brands as well as by his inability to stop himself from nuzzling her ear as he answered.

“I have… never done this,” he whispered harshly. “At first the marks… hurt. Now it is something that if I am prepared for it I can control, but… I have never done this of my own free will. I do not know what might happen.”

“Never?” Hawke couldn’t believe that, no that had been a man who was more than capable, who knew exactly what he was about.

“Not that I remember,” he sighed, a sadness creeping into his voice.

 It was that desolate tone that finally settled her, that tamped down her desire as she realized she had yet again brushed against something harsh and painful in him, twice in fact in less time than it took most people to dress in the mornings. She couldn’t help thinking about those cursed books and what little they contained, but that little was far more than he had now. She wanted so badly to tell him, right here and right now, but she knew that what Tansina has said was true. It would be unfair to give him something so important that it would divide his attention when he needed focus so much. Turning her head so that she could look him in the eye, she laid her forehead to his and drew her hand down out of his hair to cup his cheek gently. His own expression was guarded, unsure what she was going to do or say and she knew he was bracing for whatever it was.

“Fenris,” she whispered, “You are one of the most desirable men – human, elven, whatever – that I have ever met. Whatever you have been told, whatever it is you _think_ , just know that. And know that I am not afraid of you, I never have been.” She paused a moment to let that sink in. “A little intimidated sometimes, but never afraid. Not of you, not of these,” she paused to run her thumb up one of the lines that ended at his lip, and then let it graze against the edge of that as well. “And not of this either. If you need time, fine. If this never happens again? Well that is fine too. Understand that.”

Fenris gazed at her not knowing what to say, not knowing what to _think_ about what she had just said. That she honestly believed it he had no doubt, but he had had hopes dashed before. He’d been punished bitterly for reaching out for something he’d wanted. He had been reduced to nothing and reshaped to suit the needs and desires of his Magister master and despite the anger and resentment it had bred into him he had learned these lessons well. Fenris was not sure, in his deepest parts that what had been done could be undone, that he could ever be truly free. Because the marks Danarius had bestowed upon him would forever keep him separate, _different_. Those he would never be free of. That this seemingly fearless woman what? Somehow believed in him? Wanted him? Made him feel both small and tall all at once. Unsure of himself, he simply nodded.

Sighing, uncertain what he was thinking behind that guarded expression, Hawke slipped her hand under his chin so that she could press her lips gently to his. It was brief, just a light brush to prove a point to him, to herself, but it was still enough to cause her chest to tighten. ‘Maker,’ she mused, ‘I have not had enough sleep for all the things that have been thrown at me.’ Slipping gracefully out of his grasp, she stood. Looking down at him she saw his gaze was far away but even that was soon lost to the dark as his tattoos slowly faded. Reaching down, she held her hand in front of his face.

Focusing on her hand, Fenris felt the irony of it. She was constantly doing that, offering her hand to him for whatever reason even when he had given her no reason to, even when he had actively discouraged the practice. Whatever this was, he understood that she had just saved him from himself, sure as he had saved her when she’d realized her folly in asking about his first memories. He hoped this didn’t become a habit because it was frankly exhausting. Taking her hand, he allowed her to help him to his feet. Even now, standing this close to her he had to fight the desire to reach for her again and deciding that now was definitely the time for a strategic retreat, he sighed.

“I think I’m going to go back to my tent now.” He studied what little he could see of her expression in the dim light afforded, “Tomorrow will come early and I am not sure I am up to more from Tansina right now.”

“Me either,” Hawke murmured as she watched him closely. “I’m sure I don’t know what has gotten into her.”

Fenris’s mouth twisted as he fought off a knowing smile as he suspected he knew exactly what had gotten into her, instead he inclined his head and turned away, not sure his tent was where he was going but sure he needed to be somewhere else. Hawke sighed as she watched him disappear into the night and let her eyes fall to the ground as she contemplated just what had happened. That she had always found him attractive was true, even in Minrathous. She just hadn’t expected that her reaction to his advances would be so… heated. She had honestly never expected there would _be_ any advances. This just proved to her that she understood him less and less the more she was around him.

It was then that she noticed something lying just where Fenris had been sitting. Leaning over she picked it up, realizing what it was before she brought it to the light by the soft, delicate scent. Gazing sadly at the orchid Rionna had favored Fenris, now crushed and mangled, Hawke turned to gaze after where he had disappeared a moment before returning to her own tent.


	16. Chapter 16

Hawke was up early, for a myriad of reasons. One being she wanted to see the raiding party off, another being nightmares. But not the ones she had become accustomed to even if she couldn’t properly remember them, those were in a warped way old friends that came unbidden. No all she could remember of these were images of Fenris, a strange look of mayhem in his eye and those cursed books. Nervously she glanced at them where they still sat neatly piled on the table and sighed. She was still no closer to knowing how to tell him than she was when she realized they belonged in his hands. Reaching out to take the small wooden box that lay next to them, she cursed under her breath and fled the tent.

A third was she wanted to see Fenris. After everything that had happened yesterday she hadn’t been able to banish him out of her head. He was, in his own way so skittish she wanted, no make that _needed_ to know he was alright. And she knew that in the last few weeks he had become such a part of her day to day routine that she was going to miss him.

Knowing that they would be gone the better part of two weeks meeting up with men sent from two other Fog Warrior camps before setting off for the Qunari compound that was their intended target, most of the camp was up early to wish speedy returns to the men of the raiding party. Most mingled easily in the dining area laughing and clapping hands to shoulders. It came as no real surprise that Fenris was standing off alone between his insistence on insulating himself and the general wariness of him. Hawke sighed and made a beeline for him before her courage failed her. Seeing her coming Fenris straightened from the tree he had been leaning against, arms uncrossing. ‘See?’ she thought, ‘If only he could do that for everyone else, they wouldn’t think him unapproachable. Alright, maybe a little, he still has that look to his eye, but not downright intimidating.’

“Hawke,” Fenris acknowledged her with a slight inclination of his head, trying not to show that he had hoped she would come.

“Fenris,” she sighed, teasing lightly, “Stop looking so serious. I get this is dangerous stuff you are going off to do, but you don’t have to look like the Kirkwall city undertaker. At least not until your delivering him work anyway.”

“I take it,” Fenris chuckled, “That you are familiar with the Kirkwall city undertaker?”

That brought back memories and not pleasant ones. Her mother’s face flashed before her as she had been after that mad maleficar had finished with her and Hawke squashed that before it even got started. Looking up she realized something had been there for Fenris to see because his eyebrows had drawn together and he was looking at her oddly.

“You could say that,” she volunteered tersely. “Nervous Circle mage, like he thought the bodies he cremated were going to sit up and smite him.” Waving a dismissive hand she forged ahead. “Not what I came here for. I came to give you this.”

Fenris was still trying to absorb the rather disturbed look she’d gotten, coupled as it was by tired lines and a drawn expression. It was obvious she hadn’t slept and that in some way both pleased and worried at the same time, which made no sense to him but there it was. He also had spent the better part of the night sitting on the step of his tent, thinking. But he had learned long ago to make do with whatever sleep he’d managed to salvage and apparently she was much worse for the wear than he. When she held up a small wooden box, his eyes ticked from that to her and back a moment, completely taken by surprise. It must have shown in his expression because Hawke chuckled.

“Fenris,” she laughed, “It’s a gift, not a live viper. You’re allowed to accept it without fear it might bite.”

“I see that,” he looked again at the box. “I… have never received one before. I do not know what to say.”

“Well,” Hawke chided gently, “You might want to accept it first and reserve the ‘what to say’ part until you’ve seen what it is.” She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “You might not like it after all.”

“I very much doubt that,” he returned with a lighter tone than he actually felt. That someone, anyone had thought enough to give something to him for no reason than to do it… he had no frame of reference for it. Half the time Danarius had thought so little that he would even forget to make sure Fenris got enough to eat, sometimes to the point where he had found himself swooning from the want. Taking the small box from her, he pulled open the hinged lid and blinked at the amulet that was tucked inside. It was a picture of a howling wolf, craftily done and very detailed. Fenris looked up at Hawke, then back down into the box before carefully hooking the chain around one finger and pulling it out. Finally he simply repeated, “Hawke, I do not know what to say.”

“Well that look is thank you enough,” she chuckled, taking the box from him as he again examined the pendant. “I got that in Kirkwall somewhere, don’t even remember where. Don’t know why I held onto it all these years except I rather liked it even if it isn’t something I’d wear. But I thought you might like it.”

“It’s fitting enough,” he nodded, “Fenris means ‘little wolf.’ Danarius named me that. Thank you.”

Hawke school her features carefully even though she wanted to tell me his name was _not_ Fenris, managing to keep that to herself though he probably wouldn’t have noticed if she’d screamed it. He was far too wrapped up in his first present and that pleased her. She should have thought of this sooner. Looking down she noticed a blue-black orchid tucked in his belt and smiled. She could already picture him hunting a replacement in the dark when he’d realized it was gone, probably cursing in Arcanum the whole way. The image made her smile, realizing suddenly just how fond she was becoming of this completely incomprehensible elf.

“Well, I see you two didn’t disappear off the face of Seheron after all.”

Shooting a glance at Fenris, Hawke turned and put on her very best ‘what of it’ smile for Tansina as the elf tried hard not to waddle with her enormous belly throwing her off balance. Rionna was trailing behind her holding onto her father’s hand and smiling shyly at Fenris.

“Why yes, we did rather take off last night,” Hawke shrugged nonchalantly, fairly certain that she had Tansina to thank for sending Fenris off after her. “Sorry.”

That caused Tansina’s eyebrow to rise, especially considering it didn’t take a soothsayer to see that Hawke had still not gotten much sleep. Glancing at Fenris she realized she would get nothing from him. Deciding she would have weeks with Hawke to ferret out what had happened, she smiled warmly at them both and decided not to tease. Warrick just shot Fenris a look that told the other elf exactly what it was that he thought about it all and Fenris returned the gesture with an uncomfortable shrug before looking away. That caused Warrick’s eyebrow to rise, but unlike his wife Warrick had no intention of pressing for details. If Fenris wanted him to know, he’d tell him.

“My how the mighty have fallen,” a familiar voice broke the silence before it had a chance to get tense. “Hawke you look like several different kinds of nug shit. You didn’t get into some rum last night did you?”

 “Why Varric,” she purred as the dwarf approached, Bianca thrown casually over his shoulder, “Thank you ever so much for pointing out that I have had a run of insomnia to just everyone in the camp! Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

 “Like they can’t see this for themselves,” Varric snorted and waved a hand at her. “I have some dwarvish ale you can have. If that doesn’t knock you out nothing will.”

“And eat my stomach as well as my brain,” Hawke shot back. “Thank you but no. I think I’d rather drink rum.”

“Suit yourself,” Varric shrugged. “Don’t say I never tried.”

Taking a deep breath Hawke tried to tamp down her irritation with just everyone and everything, knowing full well that it was because she hadn’t slept and no fault of theirs. Finally finding her footing, she shot Varric a minute smile.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “If I take a notion along those lines I have several bottles of something that Isabella gave me. Something wine and Tevinter I think she said. But I figure exhaustion will get me first, without alcoholic aid.”

Never one to hold a grudge long, especially against Hawke Varric waved her off and studied her a moment, wondering if this had anything to do with the possibly dangerous, broody, surly, tasty, now apparently on Hawke’s short list, former elvan slave. Snorting to himself, he wondered idly how many adjectives were going to end up hanging on the man’s pointy ears before it was done.

Fenris had watched the exchange with little interest until Hawke had mentioned Tevinter wine. Deciding his opinion of the privateer might indeed change if those bottles did turn out to be of decent vintage, he tucked that information away for future reference.

 “Lookit,” Rionna chirped, “He brought it with him! His happy thought!”

Fenris turned his attention to the little girl who was bouncing on her toes with excitement and was not sure exactly how to respond. Deciding that directly would probably be his best bet he plucked the flower out of his belt and leaning over he ran it down her nose.

“I promised I would,” he let his lips curl up in a small smile, “And I always do my best to keep my promises.”

Tansina looked up at her husband, a rather significant look on her face and Warrick, ever silent just shrugged and laid a light kiss on her forehead. Hawke couldn’t help a knowing smile as Rionna giggled and rubbed at her nose where the flower had tickled. Before Fenris had a chance to retreat, she bounced up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Blinking in surprise, a hand instinctively landing gently on the small her back to support her, he wasn’t sure what to do until Rionna helpfully supplied, “Pick me up! Pick me up!” Doing as he was told Fenris straightened up, reminding himself that he wanted this little girl to stop looking at him like he was some sort of new darkspawn. Rionna giggled and regarded the world from her new vantage point a moment before she turned her attention back to Fenris. Seeing the chain about his neck she plucked at it until the pendant pulled up out of his jerkin where he had placed it earlier.

“Ew,” she gazed at it as it turned on the end of the chain, “Pretty!”

“Yes it is,” Fenris agreed with her, “It was a present from Hawke, just like this,” he held up the flower he still had in his hand, “Was from you. I’m going to take them both with me.”

“Mine’s prettier,” she nodded solemnly.

“Yes,” Fenris agreed, “And it smells better too.”

Rionna giggled and pressed the tip of her finger to the end of his nose. When Fenris looked at it cross-eyed, she giggled harder and wrapping her arms around his neck again she whispered in his ear, “You’re silly.”

‘Well,’ he thought, ‘I certainly feel that way, yes.’ He was beginning to understand why people acted fools with children now, when the reward was that bright smile. Suddenly he noticed the silence and looking around he realized that he was the center of attention, even Varric was regarding his interaction with Rionna with a strange expression that bordered somewhere between amazement and outright shock. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he whispered back, “Only with you. Our secret. Care if I put you down now?”

Rionna leaned back and grinned at Fenris before nodding. Fenris sat her on her gently on her feet and watched as she ran to her mother, announcing as she did, “I think I’m going to marry him!” That brought peals of amused laughter from all corners and Fenris just stood there, rooted to the spot and flushed. When Hawke managed to stifle her amusement enough she thought she could talk she sidled over next to him and nodded thoughtfully.

“Last week it was Jerost. At least you’re in good company.” Fenris just scowled at her and she shrugged. “Hey, at least she isn’t scared anymore. And now you understand why I hate blushing too. Win-win!”

Snorting rudely _and_ loudly, he replaced both the flower and the pendant without commenting further. Hawke just grinned at him until he scowled again but without much force behind it. Still smirking, she turned to where Tansina was ushering Rionna over to a table so she could sit. Warrick watched them go and then gave Fenris one of his rare smiles.

“She is…”

“Precocious,” Fenris supplied helpfully. “Yes, this I know. I have no idea what I am to do with a fiancé who only barely comes past my knee.”

“Love her like everyone else Fenris,” Warrick grunted. “She will grow up soon enough.”

Fenris suspected that Warrick hadn’t meant that quite the way it had sounded and let it go. Warrick was worried he knew, about leaving Tansina this close to due. Worried that something might happen while he was gone. Just… worried. It was not something he understood completely because Fenris was nothing if not practical. Most of the camp was staying and Hawke would be there. He’d never had anyone worry about him, never had to worry about anyone, at least not like that anyway so he wasn’t entirely sure what to say to comfort his… friend. That was a weighty term he knew, but Fenris had come to believed that it was applicable here.

“Everything will be fine,” he finally said. “Rionna and Hawke will take care of her, you know that. I think Hawke would eat anyone that tried anything to harm them.”

Warrick watched as Hawke insisted Tansina sit along with her daughter, pointing to her still swollen feet as justification for fussing and nodded. He knew it just didn’t help was all. He didn’t expect Fenris to understand because he could well remember standing in the other elf’s shoes. But he’d nearly lost them both once, and then did lose their son. That was a pain that lingered long past the healing and caused a fear in the man that would not be settled - ever. Without them he would be more alone than he was before they came because now he would know what was gone.

It was then that Jerost decided the time for good-byes was ending. Standing on one of the tables, he beat a pot with a wooden spoon until the assembled had fallen silent. Nodding happily that he now had their attention, he spoke.

“Well folks, it’s just about that time. Those of you who volunteered for this, you have my thanks.” Waiting until the applause died, he continued, “It is going to be 6 days until we get to the prearranged meeting spot, and another 3 to the compound. Standard routine, grab what you can, burn everything else. The idea is to make it too expensive for the Qun to keep moving inland. I’m sure we would all be happier if they stayed to their part of the island, stayed out of ours.” It took significantly longer for the cheering to die this time. “Get your packs and kiss your loved ones one last time. It’s time to go.”

Warrick didn’t need to be told twice and leaving Fenris to his own devices he headed straight to his wife and child. Hawke, seeing him coming took her leave. Fenris watched through his bangs as Warrick folded his much smaller wife to him, laying his cheek on top of her head. Not to be left out, Rionna tucked herself into the space afforded her by her mother’s pregnant belly and held on to her father’s leg, the reality that yes, he was leaving finally sinking in for the little girl.

“They really are perfect for one another you know,” Hawke sighed, seeing where Fenris was looking. “She was quite possibly the best thing that ever happened to him.” Shooting a wry look up at Fenris she chuckled, “Well except maybe for Rionna. Tansina took the anger and grief out of him and Rionna tamed him for good.”

Fenris sighed. He wasn’t at all sure that ‘taming’ was a good thing. He’d been tamed before, but he knew this was something different. No matter the cause of its creation a cage was still a cage and regardless of whether you owned the key or someone else did, it still held you firm. And that thought made Fenris… nervous. He’d had enough cages. Without thinking his hand went to his throat, to that place where the golden collar had bound him. Danarius had chosen it because he knew Fenris had never mastered phasing through metals, knew he could not throw it off himself and infused it with enough blood magic to make it hard for anyone else to try. The evil contraption had done more than physically chafe at Fenris’s neck, the magic in it had caused his lyrium to forever answer the call of the magic and constantly itch and irritate. And somehow it knew when he strayed too far, heating and choking until he was forced to retreat. Looking down at Hawke as she sighed loudly and looked back at the elven couple, he mused ‘ _I_ could not throw it off, wanted to even if it might mean dying to do it, but I could not. But _she_ did. This petite mage turned rogue has done what I was physically and mentally incapable, and here I am. Free, and yet… not.’

“Hawke,” he started only to stop, not at all sure where he was going. When she looked up at him, he swallowed hard and struggled, not able to find the words he was looking for. Finally he gave up and sighing said finally, “Take care of them. Both. I am… fond of them all and I do not wish to see any of them come to grief.”

Hawke watched as he struggled, finally admitting he was worried for his new friends. Smiling wanly, she looked back at Tansina. She hadn’t told anyone except the other healers but she was worried herself. Not only did she have a history of hard deliveries and one miscarriage, this time she was getting very big for an elf. Hawke worried the baby might be too large for her and that this delivery might be the hardest yet. Looking back at Fenris, she decided that… circumspect honesty was probably best here.

“She worries me Fenris. And not just because of her history, because this baby is very big and she is very small.” Taking a deep breath, she shook herself. “But believe me when I say I will do everything in my power to keep them all three safe, happy and healthy. You do the same. Much as I care for them, Warrick was my first friend here. His silences speak louder than any shouting and he’s pulled me out of my own head with them more than I care to count. He is as dear to me as Varric or Isabella.”

Fenris nodded, recognizing the man she was describing all too well. How many times had Warrick pulled him back from his own black thoughts, distracting him and often giving him something to think on? Warrick was a man of few words but he made sure those words counted. Without his quiet presence, coupled as it was by his gregarious and understanding wife, Fenris suspected he would still be… angry. The anger was still there, sitting comfortably in the pit of his stomach just waiting, but it was somehow… diminished. As though its claws had been cut.

“I will do my best and,” he paused to look at Hawke seriously. “Thank you.”

The weight he put behind those words made her suspect he was thanking her for more than the amulet he now wore, but exactly what she was afraid to ask. He might answer and she wasn’t entirely sure she was prepared for that, not here and certainly not now.

“You’re welcome,” was literally all she could think to say.

Fenris nodded, happy that it had been said even if she didn’t understand exactly what she was being thanked for. Reaching for his pack he threw it over one shoulder, then paused a moment to consider Hawke. Without thinking beyond the fact it was something he wanted to do, he reached out and ran the back of his fingers down her cheek, much as he had the night before. Then without waiting for her reaction, afraid of what it would be regardless of whether it was good or bad and not even certain he would know one from the other, he fell in step with Warrick as they joined the rest of the men leaving the camp. They gathered around Jerost, and with a word from him, they were gone.

Varric cocked a head from where he stood, having plainly seen what had happened between Hawke and the elf. She still stood, staring after the men like she was rooted to the spot. Lips twisting he shook his head and mused that sometimes the mating rituals of higher beings were even more bizarre than anything the Maker had created in the animal kingdom.

‘Yeah,’ he thought not for the first time, ‘Isabella is going to be so disappointed she didn’t stay for this.’


	17. Chapter 17

“Hawke,” Tansina glanced at the other woman sideways as she and Isabella worked the crate that contained her cradle open. “I don’t know if it’s simple thickness or if you are deliberately ignoring me, but it’s been what? Over week now and you still haven’t told me what you and Fenris were laughing at the night before they left. The men are due back soon and I’m tired of being subtle so I am just asking now – what?”

“It isn’t thickness Tansina. I _am_ ignoring you.”

“Well that’s not fair,” the pregnant elf pouted exaggeratedly, winking at the questioning look Isabella got the second the ‘tasty’ elf got mentioned. “It was no small feat on my part to get him to follow you.”

“Oh so I was _right_ ,” Hawke shot back without looking up from what she was doing. “I _did_ have you to thank for that.”

“Oh no you two do not,” Isabella parked a hand on her hip, ignoring the look Hawke shot her when she stopped using her prybar to help pop the top off the crate, instead using it to point to the two other women in turn. “You _will_ explain.”

“Well apparently our fancy Tevinter elf likes it when Hawke blushes,” Tansina laid a finger to her lips, and rolled her eyes up innocently. “And Hawke here of course decided to run for the hills. So I sent him after her. Wasn’t but a few minutes later that Warrick and I listened to the most raucous laughter from the two of them, out there,” she pointed vaguely before continuing, “In the dark. And they never came back either.”

Isabella gasped exaggeratedly, laying a hand to her rather ample bosom.

“Oh yes, and Hawke showed up to wish him farewell the next morning with a gift,” Tansina pause dramatically to let that soak in before dishing the best part, “ _And_ looking like she hadn’t slept a _wink_.”

Isabella let her eyes go wide and her mouth fall open in a mockery of shock as she looked at Hawke, who by this time had just planted her elbows on the crate and hung her head. Maker they made it sound… sordid. These two were worse than Varric.

“Marian Hawke!” Isabella gasped, tapped the top of the crate with the prybar like an angry Chantry schoolmarm to get Hawke to look up at her. “What would your mother say?”

Hawke considered that for a second before finally firing off a weary, “Godspeed?”

Whatever she had expected apparently that was not it because Isabella’s face froze in place a second before she started snorting and sniffing and finally giving up, just started laughing. It was infectious as usual and before long they were all creating their own raucous.

“I don’t know which part of that story shocks me more,” Isabella finally gasped, holding her stomach, “That you two were alone in the dark, never to be seen until morning or that Fenris actually smiled much less _laughed_.”

“Isabella,” Hawke sighed, deciding to lie just a little here, “Nothing happened. Nothing. He snuck up on me and scared the piss out of me for like the hundredth time and it was funny.” Pausing a second she chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Oh yes, and I need a bell - a _loud_ one.”

Isabella snorted rudely as she stuck the prybar back under the top of the crate.

“What are you doing to do, hang it around his neck?”

“I threatened to sew it to his ear, which is what got the laughing thing started in the first place.”

Isabella just shook her head and leaned harder into the prybar. When the crate finally gave way, she reached in, careful to avoid splinters and pulled a small sackcloth covered cradle out of the box. Sitting that to the side where Tansina immediately started pulling off the coverings, she leaned in again and pulled out something else, this wrapped in paper covered with a colorful design of flowers. Smirking wryly she held it out to Hawke. Hawke eyed the other woman suspiciously, not at all sure she liked that look.

“Well?” Isabella shook the gift at her.

Taking it, Hawke sat next to Tansina and pulled the pretty paper off and then proceeded to just gape.

“Oh… my!” Tansina blinked at the tiniest, sheerest, and least covering piece of lingerie she had ever laid her eyes on.

“Isabella….” Hawke held the more or less on piece contraption up, and trying to imagine someone actually _in_ it, just shook her head.

“Well,” Isabella said innocently, “I had thought it to be a joke, but apparently,” she paused to wink, “Not.”

“Oh Maker’s Breath both of you,” Hawke wadded the thing up and stuffed it back into the paper. “Nothing happened! Got that?”

“Me thinks,” Tansina teases lightly, “You protest too much.”

“Oh I give up! Yes, we made passionate love against a tree less than ten feet from two different tents with half the people in Seheron awake and moving about.” Hawke threw her hands up in mock resignation. “It was lovely, can’t wait for him to get back so we can try it in an actual bed so maybe I won’t be digging splinters out of my ass half the night! Are you happy now?”

“Oh-ho, not even close,” Isabella leaned over the crate and planted her best serious expression on her face. “I have to know, does that lyrium… thing… well…” she paused to exaggeratedly take a finger from relaxed to standing straight and shot a questioning look at Hawke as she did. Hawke gaped at her friend a second before deciding that this was a mental image she could have just done without, _especially_ considering his propensity for glowing in the dark when things got away from him. Slapping her hands over both ears she stood up and marched straight out of the camp, shouting exaggeratedly “I CAN’T HEAR YOU, I CAN’T HEAR YOU” as she did. Surprised, both women watched her go in silence until Rionna, who had been sitting off under a tree playing piped up.

“I get in trouble for that.”

Hawke ignored the laughter that followed her, positive she didn’t want to know.

* * *

Isabella, knowing her friend too well, left Hawke to stew and it wasn’t until dinner when she was parked in her usual position across from Varric that she decided to test the waters. Plopping down next to her, Isabella winked at Varric and sighed when Hawke ignored her completely.

“Oh come on,” Isabella purred. “We were just having fun you know.”

Hawke snorted but kept on eating, not even looking at Varric who had paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. What was this about?

“Oh Hawke,” Isabella reached around to hug her friend, laying her head on her shoulder. “You know I can’t sleep if I think you’re angry! Forgive me for being…”

When she flailed for a word, Hawke supplied helpfully, “A bitch?”

“Well no, I don’t apologize for that ever,” Isabella smirked. “How about catty? I can live with apologizing for being that.”

Pulling her head back so she could glare down at the Ravaini woman before replying, “You know I’m never going to be able to look at him without thinking about that now right?”

 “Well then,” Isabella sat up and bounced in her seat, knowing she was forgiven now, “My work here is done.”

“Thinking about what?” Varric dropped his spoon down in his plate and glared at the two of them for having a conversation he could not make heads or tails of.

“S. E. X.” Isabella provided helpfully, like that made any more sense than the rest of it had.

“Never mind Varric,” Hawke sighed. When Isabella drew in a breath, Hawke pointed a finger at her and warned in a low voice, “Don’t you dare! I’ll give him permission to tell the Champion story to all of Seheron if you do.”

Isabella pouted but relented, shrugging helplessly at Varric.

“Bah!” Varric threw both hands up. “How am I supposed to chronicle the continuing adventures of Marian Hawke if she insists on keeping me _out_ _of_ _the_ _loop_?”

Hawke just looked at him a minute and started eating quietly again. Twisting his lips he sighed.

“Alright then, I’ll just have to make something up.”

Trying not to choke on her food, Hawke waved a hand helplessly at the dwarf.

“Well would it help to know I gave her a mental image of the fancy elf,” pausing a second she decided she liked that description much better than tasty and silently thanked Tansina for it, “That she will never be able to wash out of that dirty little mind of hers?”

“Noooooo….” Varric threw a look at Hawke, who was now firing fireballs out of her eyes at Isabella and silently made note of the new adjective. “But it certainly explains why she doesn’t want to talk about it. That seems to be the norm where Fenris is concerned.”

“I’m going to have to take my dinner to my tent aren’t I?”

“No, actually Tansina sent me to get you. Said her back is hurting her fierce.” Isabella watched moon eyed as Hawke cursed and left the table. Shrugging, she scooted over and picked up Hawke’s abandoned spoon. “Now that we are alone, this is how it went….”

* * *

Hawke held on, wincing as Tansina clutched at her hand until she was sure she could feel the bones grinding together and, ignoring the pain as much as she could used her best, most practiced ‘listen to me, I’m the healer here’ tone as she encouraged the other woman to breathe through it. This had gone on most of the night now, Tansina’s pains slowly working up in intensity. They had started in the small of her back, feeling much like someone had just kicked her in the kidneys and had slowly over time started radiating out until the elf was sure her back was going to snap. After hours and no sign that her pains were going to settle down into a rhythm, Hawke had suggested walking. Tansina, in pain and tired now had glared at her but agreed. And now here they were, Hawke on one side, one of the other women who always gathered outside to lend silent sympathy and any aid they might on the other. The two of them were very nearly bodily holding Tansina up as the strongest pain yet nearly caused her legs to crumble out from under her. Around them the assembled women watched silently, holding their collective breathes until finally Tansina’s face began to relax.

“Oh Hawke,” she whimpered. “I don’t know if I can keep this up.”

“Yes,” Hawke reassured her soothingly. “You can. You’re female remember? You are built to do this and I’m going to be right here the whole time. I’ll get you through it.”

Tansina looked at Hawke, their eyes meeting and she nodded wearily, taking strength in Hawke’s certainty and wishing fervently it was her husband’s strength she was relying on. Taking a deep breath and wishing not for the first time this night that her husband would hurry up, she straightened and the three of them took several more steps before another hard pain hit, almost without warning or buildup. Groaning quietly, Tansina focused on a point somewhere away from here and worked at breathing when all she wanted to do was collapse and cry. ‘That was fast,’ Hawke thought worriedly, ‘Maybe too fast.’ When Tansina finally started to unfold, Hawke waved her to the nearest chair. Shooting Hawke a look polluted with gratitude Tansina sat, still breathing hard from the strain.

“Okay,” Hawke knelt in front of her, “This is what we are going to do. I don’t want to make you walk back to the tent just yet, but I need to get a look at how well you are opening up. Scoot your butt forward, lean back and hook your knees over my shoulders.”

Tansina blinked at Hawk a few times before firing a wry grin at her.

“I recognize the maneuver just fine. I had no idea you cared so much.”

Choking back a laugh, Hawke pulled the light nightshift up and waited for Tansina to work herself in position. Calling on the Fade to light up one hand with raw magic, she used its light to see what she was doing.

“Whatever are you doing down there?” Tansina shot a nervous look down at Hawke’s head.

“I’m a mage remember? I’m doing… magey healer things.” Hawke laughed. “Relax already.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not spread out for the world to see with another woman sticking her nose… down there.” Tansina grumbled. “You’re also not the one whose back feels like it’s been trampled by a herd of elephants.”

‘Fair enough,’ Hawke thought as she went about her business. No, she wasn’t dilating near fast enough to suit Hawke, but gravity was starting to work its wonders – she _was_ further along than she had been when they started.

“I hate to say this,” Hawke sighed as she looked up, silently sending a thought of thanks to the Anders for telling her about this walking trick. “But it looks like walking is working down here even if your pains are still not working into rhythm.”

Tansina shot a look of pure disgust at Hawke and sighed. ‘More torture,’ she thought to herself, ‘Check!’ Working herself back to a sitting position, her back protesting the whole way, Tansina leaned forward and laid a hand on Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke paused to look at her when the heavy hand landed on her shoulder. Tansina had one of most inscrutable looks Hawke had ever seen on the woman when she leaned forward and laid her forehead to Hawke’s.

“Thank you.”

Hawke blinked at her and shook her head.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she gently admonished Tansina, suspecting that there was more meaning behind those two words than just the obvious. “We aren’t done yet. And by the look of things, we have a long way still to go.”

“Definitely a boy,” Tansina groused as she allowed Hawke to help her to her feet. “Only a male would torture my body like this out of pure stubbornness.”

Hawke chuckled, glad that she hadn’t lost her sense of humor yet. That would come later she suspected, when Tansina was pushed so far past her limits that the only thing keeping her in the fight was sheer determination to just have it over.

* * *

It was past dawn now and Tansina was far enough along that Hawke had suggested she lie down in her tent. It had less to do with how dilated she was as it did the woman was exhausted and her legs were getting wobbly. Leaving her in the care of another healer for a moment Hawke stepped out of the tent and stood stretching and glaring up at the sunlight that filtered down through the trees. Trying to decide which she was more, hungry or tired, she quickly decided hungry. She was just about to send one of the women to go see what she could find when Hawke spotted Isabella walking through the trees. Hawke’s brow furrowed knowing the Isabella would be the last woman to show up at a birth, having told Hawke long ago that the very idea just gave her the shivers. As she drew closer though Hawke could see her expression and knew that whatever had driven Isabella to come, it wasn’t good. Forcing her feet to move she met her at the edge of the camp, well away from the assembled women.

“What?”

Isabella sighed and looked past Hawke to make sure no one was paying attention.

“Varric sent me,” she said simply. “The men are back.”

Hawke’s first reaction was relief and she almost smiled, but Isabella’s next words killed that sure as any dagger from her arsenal.

“Some didn’t make it.”

Hawke took in the sad expression that Isabella wore, looking at the ground and worrying the toe of her boot into the soft, sandy soil. Hawke felt the muscles of her jaw start working, grinding her teeth together. Reaching out to force Isabella to look at her she clenched out, “Warrick?” Isabella nodded miserably and for all her bluster, looked like she was going to cry. Taking a deep breath, Hawke looked back at the tent. Tired as she was her mind was racing. Turning back to Isabella she pointed at her friend.

“You _will_ make sure it stays away from here,” she snarled, not caring if anyone’s tender feelings got hurt. “Tell them all to stay _away_ _from_ _this_ _camp_ or by Andraste’s Flaming Sword I will personally make them _all_ pay.” Abruptly she started to stalk away, and then pulled up short. Turning to see Isabella nodding to no one and turning to go, she asked in a softer tone, “Fenris?”

Isabella paused, looking Hawke in the eye for the first time voluntarily before nodding. “He’s here. He’s fine.”

Hawke stood for a second, taking it all in before nodding and turning back to the tent. How was she going to do this? Her steps slowing, she stared at the step. How was she going to keep this from Tansina? How? ‘By not feeling it,’ a voice deep inside her head told her. ‘Stuff it all in a small box, lock it, then put it behind a door and lock that too.’ Hawke sighed, knowing her instinct was right, but how many times in one lifetime was she going to be forced to put grief aside for the greater good? Physically shaking herself and parking her best Wicked Grace with Varric face on, she took the step and entered the tent, having completely forgotten she was hungry.

* * *

Several more hours had past and now Hawke was beside herself with worry. It was fast becoming apparent that her concern for the size of the baby had been well founded. Tansina’s pains had finally settled into a punishing rhythm, and she had crowned. Now Hawke held the baby’s head in her hands, but something was wrong, the baby wasn’t advancing with each contraction. It was she realized caught by its shoulder and something would have to be done. Looking at Tansina calmly when calm was the last thing she was feeling, she quickly explained. They could force the issue and risk breaking the baby’s collarbone, or they could try manually repositioning him to where the shoulder might – just might, slip through. Tansina was far too tired really hear what she was saying but breaking the fragile bones of her child was something she could understand and not something she wanted to do.

“Fine, then we need you to lay back, completely flat, bend your knees and pull them up as far as you can. These two will hold on to your feet to keep you in that position. That widens your pelvis and that might just be enough. Understand?” When Tansina nodded, Hawke looked at the other healer. Without pause he and what for lack of a better word was their assistant began pulling pillows out from behind Tansina and helping her lay flat. Once they had her in position, Hawke looked at Tansina.

“I’ll need to try and get this done between contractions so you let me know when you feel one coming, alright?”

Tansina nodded mutely, now really scared.

“Its okay sweetheart,” Hawke reached out to rub her hand on Tansina’s thigh. “This happens.”

Looking back down at the baby’s head cradled in her hand, Hawke sent a silent prayer to the Maker and began to gently try and rotate the baby using his head and neck. Hawke almost cried when after some gentle maneuvering the head began to turn and when Tansina started breathing harder and shouting that the next contraction was coming, Hawke watched wide-eyed as the shoulder slipped loose and with a final gush of fluid and blood, she found herself holding Warrick’s son. Gently tickling the bottoms of his feet, the baby’s swollen eyes opened briefly before he took his first deep breath and let loose with a scream that surprised Hawke.

“Oh Tansina,” she was beyond holding back tears now, and letting her joy and grief mix, she let them go. “It’s a boy!”

Tansina, feeling the pressure release knew without being told that the baby was out. Staring at the sloped ceiling of the tent, she was too scared to move until she heard that indignant squall. Bursting into tears, once her legs were released she sat herself up and watched as Hawke tied off the cord and cut it, then wiped him off and wrapped him in a towel.

“I knew it,” she sobbed, “Only a man can procrastinate like this.” She held her arms out and Hawke, with one final look at the swollen face that even now she could see had Warrick’s serious brow, handed him to his mother. Just like that all the months of discomfort, all the hours of pain were forgiven, and Tansina proceeded to stare lovingly at the angry child, memorizing every feature. Turning away, knowing that from here the other healer could deal with delivering the placenta and knowing she had to get out of the tent before Tansina realized something was wrong with her, Hawke quietly made her exit.

* * *

Despite Hawke’s proscription Fenris had not been able to stay away. For several hours he’d stood in the trees, hands clenching and unclenching, watching, listening, trying to fight down this agony in his chest. Each time Tansina had cried out he had cringed, knowing she was laboring to bring into the world a gift that only she could give and the recipient was beyond her now. Warrick’s face as he lay dying, holding firm with the last of his strength to Fenris’s hand as he begged brokenly for Fenris to watch over his family flashed through his head, and looking down at his hand Fenris half expected to see his blood still there staining his flesh as sure as the lyrium did. Guilt Fenris recognized, regret as well. This pain was different, it made it hard to breath and difficult to think beyond how very much it hurt. Was this grief? This pervasive misery to equal any physical pain he had ever endured? Was it… loss?

A bolt of relief the likes of which he had never known shot through him when at long last he heard a baby’s piqued cry echo through the trees, so strong it burned back the feelings he couldn’t identify if only for that one moment. It was done. He almost abandoned his silent vigil when he saw Hawke stumble from the tent and wave everyone away from her. Her face was drawn, tired and tears cut bitter lines down her cheeks. She walked past everyone, ignoring their congratulations like they were no more than gnats in the air. Stopping to look around her eyes found him, standing alone and feeling more so. Fenris met her gaze, seeing so very many things there while she was too vulnerable to hide them. Not the least was relief and that sent a bolt of something entirely different through him. Turning, he walked until he was a decent distance and then he started to run.


	18. Chapter 18

Hawke didn’t know exactly what to do with herself. When she looked in on Tansina she had been sleeping peacefully, the baby in the little cradle that Isabella had brought next to the bed sleeping just as peaceful. She wasn’t needed here anymore but she was loathed to leave. Tansina had fallen into her exhausted sleep still not knowing that her husband would never know what she’d endured, would never see his son, and would never be coming home. She knew that someone had to tell Rionna because after everything else she had been through, Tansina would never be able to do it. That was what finally spurred her to leave the tent, admonishing the women not to tell Tansina anything should she wake. Steeling herself, she went in search of the little girl. When she couldn’t find her anywhere in her parent’s camp, she finally asked one of the women and was told that the ‘Tevinter elf’ had come and taken her with him. A little confused because she knew the woman meant Fenris, her eyes automatically went to where she had seen him hours earlier, watching like a statue until she’d seen him. Sighing she went in search of Fenris instead.

 It didn’t take her long to find him, just about everyone had taken note of the white-haired elf as he carried Warrick’s raven-haired daughter. They were at the stream where just about everyone washed their clothes and bathed. Stopping in the trees she was just a little amazed when she saw he was sitting at the water’s edge, Rionna folded into his chest as the little girl sobbed into his jerkin. His head was bowed over her, his eyes closed. Blinking back her own tears at the scene, her own emotions still far too raw, Hawke sighed and made her way down the path to where they sat. Rionna was oblivious, too wrapped up in her grief to notice her, but at her light approach Fenris’s eyes slitted open. Sitting next to him, she could see the pain this little girl’s tears caused him and silently she held out her hand. Fenris regarded it a moment before enfolding it in his own and turning his head back. They sat that way long after Rionna’s tears had subsided to sniffling hiccups which had then subsided to a slow, even breath that announced the girl had fallen to sleep - Fenris with his eyes closed and so still that she had to pay attention to even know he was breathing, Hawke silently studying his profile and patiently waiting. Finally Fenris spoke.

“I was not there.”

He didn’t say anything else, didn’t need to. Hawke understood. She knew _exactly_ what that meant, _exactly_ how that felt. It didn’t matter if it was his fault or not, he hadn’t been there and it would forever haunt him that he was unable to stop what had happened to his friend. That her own mother’s death still haunted her all these years later was testament to that. Sighing, she squeezed his hand and laid her head against his shoulder, not bothering with the platitudes she knew only too well most people held to. They didn’t help and she knew that Fenris would appreciate her understanding silence far more than any ‘sorry’ she might manufacture.

When her head touched his shoulder Fenris managed not to flinch, less so from any pain his marks caused than from the rawness of it. He’d ran, ran until his legs burned with no destination, no plan, just a burning desire to be somewhere, _anywhere_ else. That this Maker that most of the elves in camp espoused to had a dark sense of humor was proofed when in the end he had found himself right back where he had started - Warrick’s camp. That was when he had seen Rionna, playing happily with her doll and he knew that no one had told her. ‘I might not understand this hurt,’ he had thought, ‘I may not understand what I felt when I saw into Hawke’s thoughts, I may have been helpless to save her father, more helpless still to assist her mother but this I _can_ do. I _can_ do this for this one little girl.’ Without stopping to think, working on pure instinct he had swooped her up and left, taking her to the one place he suspected few would be about on this day and blessedly he’d been right. She had listened attentively, eyes wide and brimming with tears because she was a Fog Warrior, even at this tender age. She knew that ‘dead’ meant ‘never coming back’.

When her silent tears turned to wracking sobs, the pain in Fenris grew until his chest could no longer contain it and it spilled into his throat where he had bit back a sob of his own and pulled her to him, the sheer act of holding her comforting him as much as it did her. How long they had been there before Hawke found them he could not say, surely not long because Rionna’s tiny body couldn’t maintain that grief for long, but her silence was balming, her hand a small shield against the pain and he thanked her for that.

“The baby?”

“Boy,” Hawke supplied, “Healthy, all fingers and toes accounted for.”

“Tansina?”

“Fine,” Hawke sighed. “Tired. And right now sleeping in peace.”

“Then she does not know?”

“No.”

Fenris nodded. Let her bask in her victory for a time, he understood the logic to it. He looked up, noticing for the first time that the hour was getting late, the sun waning ever lower. Sighing he turned her hand loose and held gently to the child as he unfolded and stood. Looking down at Hawke, unsure he wanted to do this, unsure he had the strength to do it, he finally spoke.

“I want to be there.”

Hawke nodded and stood, silently leading the way back.

* * *

Hawke sighed - a small sound lost in the conversations going on around her and used her fork to play at her food. Varric watched through his lashes, her look so far away that he didn’t think a lightning strike would draw her back and wondered what she was thinking. Considering the course of the last twenty-some hours it would be hard to point to any one thing that would make her like this. Deciding it was probably a culmination of it all, he sighed to himself and reached across the table to lay his hand over hers. She didn’t look up, didn’t even acknowledge him but she stopped fidgeting her food and simply dropped her fork, her hand disappearing into her lap.

It had been horrible, seeing Tansina trying to absorb what Jerost had to say. At first she had looked panicked, like he was a dangerous thing snuck into the tent intent on doing her and her newborn harm. Clutching the baby, she’d shook her head and refused to let Hawke touch her. That was when the realization that it was not some terrible dream began to dawn on her and she had very quietly began to sob, her bitter tears falling on the downy head of her son. This quiet grief had struck a chord in Hawke, and closing her eyes she’d turned her head to keep the profound pain away from Tansina should she look up. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she’d opened her eyes to see Fenris looking at her, each soft sob making him flinch ever so slightly. Jerost silently excused himself, leaving Hawke and Fenris alone with Tansina, neither sure what to do to try and comfort her except to just be there. Finally the sobs gave way to a long stare, one that they both knew went far beyond the wall of the tent it was aimed at until finally she spoke.

“Did he suffer?”

“Not long,” Fenris immediately offered. “His last thoughts were of you.”

Tansina turned to look at him, eyes red-rimmed and sad.

“He asked me to watch over you and the children. He made me promise to keep you all safe.”

Tansina had nodded and looking down at her son she said in a voice so small it was almost lost even in the silence of the tent, “We decided what to name him, the night before you left.  We couldn’t decide on a boy’s name until then. We decided to name him Leto.”

Hawke’s eyes widened before she could stop it and without thinking, she looked at Fenris. He blinked, eyebrows drawing together slightly, but he nodded.

“It is a good name. It means ‘he who is happy’,” Fenris nodded. “Let us hope it is a truth.”

Tansina nodded to no one in particular, looking down at the sleeping baby in her arms. Warrick had explained the name’s meaning to her that night and the irony of it had just tore at her heart. It was then they had decided to name this child after Fenris, hoping that in some small way this would express how much he had come to mean to them once Hawke shared with him what she knew of his past. Silent tears welled up again, and Tansina gently kissed the boy she had so longed to give her husband.

“Please,” she had begged in a broken voice. “Please leave.”

Varric tapped the top of Hawke’s hand with one finger and drew her back to the present. She looked at him a moment before shaking her head. She didn’t want to talk about it, not yet – maybe not ever. Nodding that he understood, Varric withdrew his hand and watched as Hawke determinedly picked up her fork and began to eat.

* * *

Fenris sat silent and unmoving on the step to Tansina’s tent, his sword-tip buried in the sandy soil, his hands wrapped around the quillons and his forehead pressed to the pommel. She was asleep he knew, Rionna curled against her and Leto in his cradle. Leto. The name unaccountably made him uncomfortable, a small nagging in his gut he didn’t understand. There was nothing wrong with it, he had been truthful that he felt it was a good name, but something about it just didn’t sit right with him. The more he tried to ferret it out, the more it retreated and hid. When he heard soft footsteps, he knew without looking that Hawke was back. Varric had come and taken her to the communal meal, insisting though there was nothing he could do to make her sleep, he was going to make sure she ate and she had given in without much fight. Opening his eyes when she paused, he saw her watching him from several paces away.

Varric was right, she needed to sleep. The lines her weariness had etched into her face were deep and her eyes had a thousand yard look to them. The stress had kept her from collapse, but now that the stress was gone there was nothing to keep her going except sheer stubbornness. Sitting straight, he indicated she should sit with a cock of his head, and when she stepped around his sword he sat it aside, leaning it against the wall of the tent.

“You should sleep.”

“So should you.”

“I am used to going without much sleep,” he murmured, “You are not.”

“This is true.” She stopped to look up. “I just can’t relax. Its tension, I know this but it wouldn’t do me any good to try right now. My head won’t stop.”

Fenris nodded because he knew that feeling. He spent a great deal of time like that, but he’d learned a long time ago how to stuff it all in a box and slam the lid down on it so that he could sleep. Hawke apparently was not so adept. Sighing he slipped an arm around her and drew her to him until her head lay on his shoulder and without thinking about it, he started singing. The words were in Arcanum but it was clearly a lullaby. Too tired to be surprised that Fenris had a singing voice and not even considering the implications behind his action Hawke just listened. Not understanding a word but understanding the intent, she enjoying the vibrations of his voice against her cheek, and it wasn’t long before she was asleep.

Fenris looked down at the top of her head and wondered where that song had come from. He remembered it clearly, the melody, the words but not in any context he could put his finger on. It had just come unbidden from the murky depths of his soul when he had most needed it.

* * *

Wakefulness prodded at the edges of Hawke’s consciousness like a baby bird demanding to be fed and uncharacteristically she resisted, burrowing deeper into the pillow. She was too comfortable and in the back of her sleep addled mind she knew that waking would mean having to deal with all those things left undone. It was then that the steady pressure on her hip she had until this point only vaguely noticed moved and, eyebrows drawing together even before her eyes slitted open, she gave in. Blinking furiously against the dim light she found herself staring at Fenris, his eyes closed and face relaxed in sleep, the pressure she felt was his hand. Eyes widening as she tried to work this out, she looked around her as much as she could without really moving, afraid that she might wake him. She didn’t recognize the tent she was in, but quickly realized when she saw that she was laying on a mattress spread out on the floor and the rope bed assembled and sitting in the corner with his sword laid across it that this had to be his tent. Frowning she tried to work this out, how had she gotten here? She remembered dinner with Varric and returning to Tansina’s tent to find Fenris sitting on her doorstep. One eyebrow slid slowly up as she recalled him… singing, but from there? Nothing. His hand twitched again, and her eyes skittered back to him where his head lay next to hers on the pillow.

Fenris couldn’t say what it was that woke him but he was awake when she started trying to work it out, watching as she looked around trying to take in where she was. When she had fallen into a weary, dreamless sleep he had realized that waking her to get her to her tent wasn’t going to be an option and her tent was far enough away that even as slender as she was he wasn’t sure he’d be able to carry her. His own tent was closer so he’d brought her here instead. Her exhaustion had been so profound that she hadn’t even protested being moved, simply curled against his chest while he’d carried her. This absolute trust that she had unconsciously shown him had spoken to something inside him and he had laid down with her, letting his own weariness sink in. Now he found himself studying her as she frowned at the ceiling and though sleep still clung to her, those tired lines about her eyes were still there. The sudden desire to sooth her frowning brow made his hand twitch and drew her attention back to him. Finding himself gazing into her eyes he saw she was confused, unsure and uncomfortable and it just made him want to comfort her more so he let his hand leave her hip where it had apparently found itself a home while he’d slept, to gently smooth back some locks of hair that had fallen across her face. That done he let his fingertips run along her jaw to her chin and back, the whole while just watching.

Hawke shivered, gooseflesh breaking out all over her at the gentle, familiar way he touched her. She found herself completely helpless to look away as he carefully studied her, like he was committing to memory every line and curve, every stray hair and every rogue freckle dusting her nose. She watched in mute fascination as his eyes darkened, and remembering when last they had taken on that color her chest tightened and she unconsciously licked her lips. Seeing that Fenris felt a shot of desire for this woman that literally raised the hair on his head and decided somewhere that even though he really didn’t understand it, he didn’t wish to study it. Instead he slid his hand into her hair and drew her to him, not even noticing when the force of his feelings caused his markings to start shining gently in the gloom.

This time he didn’t claim his prize, even in tenderness. Instead he lightly brushed his lips to hers, exploring the soft bottom lip before grazing along the top one and returning, the whole while his gaze capturing hers, holding it and watching what swirled through their unguarded depths. He didn’t always understand what he was seeing, but something about them caused a tightening in his chest that set him on his course, consequences be damned. He was tired, tired of being afraid, of himself, of not understanding, of not knowing what was the right thing to do. He was tired of being _looked_ upon in fear; they did it here just like they had in Minrathous and unfortunately both for good reason. All except this one mage, this woman who still made no sense to him and he was beginning to suspect never would. Most of all he was tired of being afraid of reaching out for what he wanted, forget needed. Right now all that mattered was she wanted him and somewhere deep inside him he needed her, needed her gentle fierceness, her determined calm, and her daring tenderness. Letting his lips brush across hers again, he finally gave in to his own desire to have her and slid his arms around her, pulling her close and rolling over onto his back with her atop him.

Hawke gasped as he rolled over and pulled her bodily over him. Before she had a chance to think, he silenced any protest when his hand buried itself in her hair and pulled her mouth to his. Yielding instead, she stretched herself along him, marveling at just how good he felt and matching his passionate kiss tongue stroke for tongue stroke. When finally a want of air drove them apart he pulled her hair, exposing her neck for his inspection. Seeing her pulse fluttering he pressed his lips to it, grazing it gently with his teeth before biting down just hard enough to make her shudder before moving on. Taking his time because this was the first time he’d ever had control over this situation he explored her throat, enjoying the feel of her ragged breath rushing under his lips, the way she swallowed and the little sounds that escaped her. That she was so very vulnerable to him like this made his blood rush. Hadriana would never have allowed it and that thought made an almost feral smile curl his lips as he worked his way along the underside of her jaw. This would have set her teeth on edge, this not having complete control and she would have made him pay he was sure. That Hawke simply ceded it to him without question….

Hawke shuddered as he ran his nose along the shell of her ear, the hand in her hair directing her every movement, positioning her just where he wanted, just how he wanted. His other hand was sliding along her back, following the line of her spine through her tunic with a light gentleness that made gooseflesh spring up. She was happy to let him have control of her when it meant she could just focus on the feel of him, the way his lips, teeth and tongue felt as he teased a response from her. Still, even in this awkward position he had her in, she felt the pressing need to do something so she slid her hand into his hair and let the very tips of her fingers graze along his ear, remembering all too well their last encounter. His response was immediate, his breath hissing into her ear before he let his head fall back to the pillow. This felt just too good to ignore and he gave the sensations she was eliciting his full attention. At first he watched her through hooded eyes before reminding himself she was not Hadriana; she wasn’t likely to bite, twist or pinch. Finally he let his eyes slide shut, ceding control to her just as surely as she had given it to him.

Hawke watched a moment, taking him in as he relaxed into the pillow and the feel of her light gentle caress. He had gone completely still, almost limp, even the hand in her hair no longer held her in place. Smiling to herself when his eyes shut, she spread her legs and pulled them up until she was straddling him, giving her the leverage she needed. Leaning over him, she lightly brushed his forehead with her lips before letting these light kisses trail across his closed eyes, the bridge of his very elven nose and down to his lips. There she let her tongue graze ever so lightly across his bottom lip but when his lips parted expectantly she didn’t linger, instead dropping lower to graze against his chin and when he lifted it willingly, lower still to his gently luminous throat. Fenris was helpless in the face of these soft administrations. No one had ever so much as lifted a hand in tenderness to him until this woman had freed him of his bondage but nothing had prepared him for this. No one but Danarius and Hadriana had ever looked at him with anything like desire and that had felt nothing like this. Instead of pain there was tenderness, instead of humiliation there was trust.

When she finally came to the border provided by his shirt, barring further passage she left off her attentions to his ear and started plucking open buttons one at a time. Fenris slitted open his eyes to watch her as she sat back on her haunches, then sliding her hands under the fabric and smiling at the way the muscles of his flat stomach twitched under smooth skin at the unfamiliar touch, she pushed the fabric open and out of her way. Pausing to take it all in, the lines and angles, the lyrium glow, she let her eyes travel slowly until she found herself boldly meeting his gaze. Feeling his blood surge at the hungry look he saw in her eye Fenris once again took control. Pulling himself to sitting, forcing her back until she sat cradled between his legs and burying his hand in her hair he took possession of her mouth again, this time with a determination that had her gasping and clinging to him. Slipping his hand under her tunic he let his hand have its way, exploring the line of her back and shoulders before drawing his nails lightly down. If he had enjoyed the little sounds she’d made when he was exploring her throat, her reaction to that sent a trill through him. Arching back into his hand she loosed a low growl into his mouth and her hands which had been pressed to his back while her attention had been drawn to his kiss came alive, sliding down his back only to draw back up dragging her own nails against supple skin she found there.

Gasping, he tore his mouth from her and threw his head back at this small, unexpected but not unwelcome pain. She immediately took the opportunity to go after his throat and he let her, far too interested in the heated swell he felt and without thinking his hands slid down her back to cup her backside and press her to it. She hissed and suddenly impatient, let him go to lean back to pull her tunic over her head. Her breast band was already gone, folded neatly somewhere in Tansina’s tent where she had abandoned it after it had started binding and annoying how long ago? She wasn’t even sure anymore but she was sure she didn’t care. Looking up she found Fenris staring down at her again, looking like he was memorizing each swell and curve and slipping her arms across his shoulders to support herself, she let him.

 Fenris drank in the sight of her, couldn’t stop himself from watching in mute fascination as his intent attentions caused her nipples to pebble. She was so different from Hadriana, lean where Hadriana had been ample, her nipples a whole different color and when hardened up a whole different shape. He suddenly wondered if they would feel different. Hands abandoning her backside, he laid them against her stomach, fingers spread and slid them up to find out. First letting his hands press up and over until he felt her hard nipples inside the palms of his hands, he cupped her and decided yes, she felt very different. She was lighter, just enough to fill his hands. It wasn’t until she groaned that he tore is attention away, looking up to see her eyes closed the look on her face very intent on what he was doing. Smiling to himself he let one hand slid back until the hardened nipple was between his fingers and closed them over it, kneading it between them. First she went limp, then with a sound somewhere between a gasp and a growl she arched into his hands. This just made him more intent on finding out what she tasted like but tangled as they were he had no access. Hands abandoning her breasts they slid under her arms and without a thought he lifted her until he could catch one between his lips. Her frustrated groan caught in her throat as he sucked her in, tongue exploring every hardened bump he found before lightly grazing his teeth against it and abandoning one for the other, repeated the process. Hawke, helpless to do anything just buried her hands in his hair and urged him on with a small breathy moan.

When his arms began to tremble Fenris growled and decided they needed a new position, one that allowed him better access to her.  Setting her down he pushed her until she was lying on her back. Intrigued by this new view because Hadriana had never allowed him any position except flat on his back where she could hang over him like a vulture, he took hold of her hips and pulled her as close as he could, grinding her into his own hardness in the process. When she arched and crossing her legs around him and pulled herself in to grind her hips to him he groaned and felt himself swelling harder still. Deciding he could withstand no more, he slid himself out of the tangle of her legs. Determining that what he wanted was what Hadriana had forbidden and without much caring if he hurt her or not, he hooked his fingers in both her breeches and smalls and yanked them off her. Sensing what he was about and not quite willing to let him go that last step yet, Hawke sat up and caught his hands as they went to unlace his leggings. Brushing her lips along the knuckles she gently set them aside and pressed her lips to his belly just under his navel, smiling to herself when the muscles twitched under her touch. Intrigued, Fenris’s chest started rumbling with a deep, deep growl and burying his hands in her hair he decided he _might_ just be able to tolerate some more.

Sliding her hands up his leather encased legs she found the laces up under her chin and brushing feather-light kisses along where the leather denied her, she began undoing them slowly, taking the time to press her hands brazenly against the hardness they held contained. Fenris gritted his teeth against this teasing, doing his best to hold himself still and finding it well nigh on impossible. His hips seemed to have a mind of their own and they strained against her. When she finally tugged the leather away from him and he fell out against her soft cheek, the unexpectedly light touch made him gasp and buck against her. Smiling to herself and knowing full well the effect she was having, Hawke took him in her hand, gently running her fingers the full length of him before tightening her grip and pushing him through it. His fingers tighten in her hair with a hiss as she turned her head and brushed her lips along the swollen head before letting the tip of her tongue run along the edges. The tight pressure deep inside him seemed to take on its own gravity, shrinking closer to singularity, and he decided that he could _now_ take no more.

Pulling her head away, he used the other hand to free himself as much as he could from the leggings but impatient beyond questioning, he pushed her back and settled himself between her legs with his own still tangled in the leather. She pulled her knees up and crossed her ankles at the small of his back to give him all the admission he required and with one sharp thrust he buried himself in her as far as he could, pausing to groan in her ear at how intensely pleasurable it was to be there, vaguely registering it when she called his name. Instinct took over from there because he no more had control of himself than a leaf in the wind did. It dictated the pace and rhythm, it told him when to slow and when to push harder still, and when Hawke arched under him, groaning as her climax took her he gave no thought to it beyond that the pulsating of her muscles wrenched his own from him. Gasping and not willing to stop, his thrusts became irregular until he finally fell exhausted into her, his face buried in her neck.

Hawke listened to his drained panting, gently running the fingers of one hand along his sweat slick back, too sapped to wonder just what had happened. ‘Don’t examine it,’ she thought to herself, ‘Just enjoy it.’ She doubted he had noticed how his lyrium had flared brighter and brighter as he’d lost himself in what he was doing, but she had. In the end it had been bright enough that she’d had to close her eyes against it, but not before he had thrown his head back and cried out her given name. ‘Don’t examine it,’ she reminded herself. ‘This man barely had his feet under him and already someone yanked out the rug. Don’t examine it.’

“Hawke….”

She turned her head to look at him where his face was half buried in the mattress, gazing back at her. His expression was so vulnerable it nearly broke her heart, now that it was over the doubts and uncertainties were already creeping in. Smiling gently she ran her hand up his back to stroke the sweat dampened hair at the nape of his neck.

“Shh,” she admonished softly. “It’s okay.”

He looked back at her a moment, swallowing hard and nodding before closing his eyes. They lay like that for a long while, completely entangled in more ways than the one and neither willing to try and pluck it apart.


	19. Chapter 19

Varric spotted the elf before Hawke and pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth, did his best to school his features to hide his shock. Hawke had been listening to him tell a story about his brother Bartrand, something that he usually had no taste for. Over the years he had finally come to a comfortable understanding with his memories concerning his brother, realizing that the man that had betrayed him wasn’t the same one he’d grown up with. When his voice died she glanced up in time to catch a quick glimpse of his surprise before he shuttered his face. One eyebrow shooting up, she glanced over her shoulder and blinked several times as Fenris walked up, a plate in one hand and a cup in the other, studiously ignoring the astonished silence that followed immediately in his wake as the people of the camp noticed him. Inclining is head politely he asked softly, “Care if I join you?”

Pausing to blink again, Hawke just shook her head and watched as he sat on the bench next to her before shooting a look at Varric who, already recovered, was chewing thoughtfully. It had been several days since their encounter and though they both spent a great deal of time in Tansina’s camp, doing whatever they could to help her come to grips with her new circumstances, Fenris had been distant. Deciding not to take it personally since she wasn’t entirely sure what had spurred him to action that morning, she had given him space. She suspected it had something to do with Warrick. Death wasn’t something new to Fenris; he’d seen it, been the cause of it on more than one occasion but this was different and she knew grief did things to people who _weren’t_ already fragile and damaged. Who knew what it was like to live in his head? He was probably the last to share what was there.

“So,” Varric decided to acknowledge the awkward silence with all the subtlety of a sword stroke. “Now that you have given everyone something to gossip about for a good week, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Fenris fired an inscrutable look through his lashes at the dwarf before picking up his own fork.

“I was hungry.”

“Oh and you haven’t been up to now? All these long months?”

“Varric…” Hawke paused to plant her foot threateningly against the edge of the bench between Varric’s legs. “Leave off.”

“No,” Fenris shot a quick look at Hawke, “It’s fine. Until recently I was taking my evening meal with Warrick and Tansina. But circumstances being what they are….” He let that thought trail off.

“Ah,” Varric took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Don’t know how to cook for yourself?”

Fenris sighed. This nosy little man wasn’t even trying to be subtle.

“I honestly do not know,” he replied evenly, focusing on his food. “It was not one of the skills Danarius required in his bodyguard.”

“Eh,” Varric shot a smirk at Hawke, “Don’t feel bad. I’d starve if there wasn’t someone else around to do the cooking.”

“Well don’t look at me,” Hawke stabbed at one of the vegetables on her plate with her fork. “I was definitely a tomboy. If there were a way to burn water, I’d find it. Mother gave up on me.” Sighing at the memory as she chewed, she finally finished, “She told me once that I had better marry a rich man who could afford servants. I do good to sew the holes in my socks and replace buttons on shirts.”

“Darn.”

“Pardon?” She had almost missed the soft rejoinder.

Fenris looked up at her, the oddest expression on his face. She was just about to ask if he was alright when he repeated himself. “Darn. You darn socks. Not sew.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes,” he paused, his face suddenly going inscrutable again. “Darning uses interlocking stitches, sewing is a running stitch.”

Hawke cocked an eyebrow at Varric when Fenris turned his attention back to his plate, unsure how to take that. Varric had no such issues.

“So you know how to make your own clothing but don’t know if you can cook.” Chuckling and shaking his head, he took a long drink from his ale. “If you are nothing else in this world elf, you _are_ interesting.”

Fenris waved a dismissive hand at the man, and shot a look at Hawke sidewise. He had been spending a lot of time doing that the last few days, trying to get a feel for what she was thinking. He himself had no idea what to think about what had happened and definitely had no idea how to approach it or her. In all the forms it had taken until now, sex had been something for him to endure and so much of what had happened with her…. Sighing he went back to eating, listening silently as Varric took up the conversation where it had been interrupted by his arrival and alternately brooding about Hawke and about lullabies and now, darning.

* * *

Watching as Fenris for the first time since his first night as part of the encampment made his way through the tables, making straight for the table that Hawke and Varric habitually sat at, Jerost considered the marked elf. That he had apparently made peace with Hawke pleased him if for no other reason than someone needed to keep an eye on him now that Warrick was gone. Looking down at his own plate he sent a silent wish that Warrick was at his people’s Maker’s side and sighed. He would miss the elf. In the years since he had come to them he had managed to create for himself a small piece of happiness and Jerost deeply regretted that he wouldn’t be around to be able to see his son grown. Looking to his side where his daughter, the one and only child his wife had been able to give him sat chatting amicably with the friend sitting next to her he suddenly missed his wife more than he had in a long while.

Looking again at the far table he wondered not for the first time just what would ultimately become of a man so intimately marked by magic.

* * *

Tansina sat at the edge of her bed, her daughter outside somewhere, her son latched greedily to one breast and tried to decide if there were anymore tears left inside her to shed. This hollow inside her wanted to know and she had no idea how to answer it. She could almost convince herself he just hadn’t returned each morning on waking, but then she would see Fenris and it would come back. Part of her wanted to tell the man to go away and leave her to her delusion, but she didn’t have it in her heart to send him away. Hurt as she was, she knew he hurt too even if he didn’t show it. Deep inside she knew that he was lost and her now diminished family had become part of his anchor. Hawke as well, though it seemed neither one of them had noticed yet.

Briefly she wondered if Hawke had told him about the books yet and decided no. If she had she suspected she would have seen the proof of it in the tentative friendship the two seemed to have forged these last few weeks, for good or ill.

Looking back at her son she realized he had dozed off and a small, sad smile turned her mouth. She suspected that Leto would have a strong man to guide him even if he wasn’t his father and that she knew would have pleased Warrick.

* * *

_He knelt, knees hurting against the cold black marble but not permitted to shift or move to relieve the sharp pain he ignored it just as he ignored the incessant itching of his collar, knowing what was coming but unable to do anything to stop it._

_He’d known as soon as his master had ordered him to follow to his washroom. There he had been ordered to undress him and once he was ensconced in the huge cut marble tub, to take up a cloth and wash him. He had done as he was told, trying his best to be matter of fact about the process but his master had taken his hand and used it to slowly caress himself, telling him to do it just so. Not having a choice now, he did as he was told, slowly soaping the man to clean off what little grim the Magister might have acquired while debating in the Senate and trying to ignore the contented sighs his master loosed._

_“Lower.”_

_Doing as he was told he slipped the cloth further down his master’s chest, putting off the inevitable, if only for a moment._

_“Lower.”_

_This time his master’s voice had an edge of irritation to it and the time for playing stupid was over. Lowering his hand into the water he let his hand brush against the hard erection he found, the one that he had been studiously ignoring in the vain hope it would go away. His master’s breath caught at the brief touch and he saw him look at him out of the corner of his eye. Turning loose of the washcloth, he rubbed his hand down the hard shaft to gently cup the testicles before pulling back up and wrapping it in his hand. His master sighed again, laying his head back and closing his eyes as his favorite slave gradually worked at the sexual tension that lay deep in the pit of his belly._

_Slowly stroking at his master, knowing from bitter experience just what the man wanted, he felt a confusion of anger, hate, shame – all mixed into something unidentifiable inside his own gut and he wondered how long before this would be over and he could go try and wash the humiliation from himself. When his master’s hand closed over his, he was grimly happy that apparently it wasn’t going to be long at all._

_Helping his master from the water, he took up a towel and began drying him without being told. Once the Magister stood dry, he had been unsurprised when he had been ordered to kneel. His master knew how very much he hated this because he’d never quite been able to hide it from him and that was precisely why the Magister required it of him as often as he did. His humiliation was the man’s chosen aphrodisiac.  Refusing to look up, this being his one and only true rebellion, he eyed his master’s feet as they appeared before him._

_“Little wolf… do not test me.”_

_With a small sigh, too quiet for his master to hear, he raised his head and let his eyes fall on the erection that the Magister had taken into his own hand to position._

_“Open.”_

_Doing as he was told, knowing that the consequences for refusal would be dire, he closed his eyes as he felt the head slip past his lips, teeth and tongue to bury itself in the back of his throat in one swift, hard stroke…._

Fenris’s eyes snapped open and for just the briefest of moments he was frozen in place, much the same way he’d been in the dream before realizing that it wasn’t real, it wasn’t happening and it would _never_ happen again. Danarius was dead and he was no longer his slave – he was free. Pulling himself to sitting and burying his face in his hands, the heels rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to banish the images that still clung to the back of his lids, he groaned and cursed. Would this never be behind him? Dropping his hands and staring into the darkness of his tent, he wondered if Danarius would ever truly be dead. Growling lowly, he pulled himself up and dressed in a silence that was as much a part of him as was his hand. It was a habit beaten into him by experience.

Not bothering with his sword because no one was likely to accost him inside the camp, he left the tent behind and not knowing where he should go, just knowing he needed to go somewhere else, he began to wander aimlessly in the dark. The sounds of the Seheron night that had once jangled his nerves now soothed them and he let his thoughts wander as directionless as he did his feet.

When he heard his name he looked up surprised, not having expected to meet anyone still awake. He was just a little surprised to find himself in Tansina’s camp. She was sitting on the step to her tent, a shawl drawn about her shoulders. She looked worn and he knew she hadn’t slept. Sighing he sat next to her, looking at the dark circles under her eyes. He didn’t ask the obvious because he suspected she was awake for much the same reason he was, chased from the Fade by dreams. She returned his gaze unflinchingly and must have seen something there because she simply reached for his hand and folded it into both of her own. How long they sat there in sympathetic silence he couldn’t say, but eventually Leto began to fuss inside the tent. Looking at Fenris again, mouth twisted with wry humor that he suspected she hadn’t shown since the day he’d returned, she patted his hand and stood to go to her son. Nodding, Fenris listened as she went to feed the baby, and knowing she wouldn’t be back tonight, he wandered on.

Hawke watched this small yet significant interaction from the trees. Chased from the Fade by her own dreams she had decided to check up on Tansina in the dusky predawn hours because she knew that she had been having trouble sleeping. She hadn’t been completely surprised to see Fenris there because in these last few weeks since his return he had taken to spending much of his time in this camp, apparently taking his promise to his friend seriously. As often as not he would stand off alone, just watching attentively with a stillness that would almost make you forget he was even there. Skills she was sure he had learned in his service to Danarius. But Rionna could draw him out of his guard stance, pulling him to a chair so that she could share her lessons in reading and writing with him. Once she had discovered he did not know how, she had taken it into her head to teach him what little she knew, and when Tansina sat her daughter down to show her more, Fenris would approach quietly watching the lessons intently.

He was still somewhat distant with her, though he still returned to the common area to silently eat with Varric and herself. He tended to resist being drawn into whatever conversation they were having unless directly addressed, but his presence had quickly become expected and… comfortable with both Hawke and Varric just accepting that broody silences were his way.

Turning to follow him, she wondered idly if he heard her or not. True his hearing was superior but the faraway look he had….

Fenris heard her, knew it was her by her familiar light step. Her presence rankled him for some reason he could not identify and without thinking about it he turned his step towards the camp she shared with Varric and when she was present, Isabella, suddenly wanting an answer he knew only she could give him. He was no fool, he knew these cursed dreams he suddenly found himself having had everything to do with her. She’d stirred up something.

Hawke was vaguely surprised when she realized where he was headed but didn’t put a lot of thought behind it until he rounded a tree at the edge of her camp and she lost sight of him. When she carefully crept around she blinked in surprise that he wasn’t there. Suddenly aware that someone was behind her, she swung around but was too late. Fenris had her by the shoulders and pushed her bodily against the tree, pinning her there with his own body. Not giving her the chance to think he slanted his lips across hers, asserting his own dominance here and waiting while she protested the only way she had, squirming to try and get some leverage and finding none. When she finally gave up, falling still and waiting to see what he was about, he couldn’t help the small sense of conquest that ran the length of him and with that he went about wrenching a response from her instead. Lessening the pressure behind his kiss, he pressed the tip of his tongue along her bottom lip, a silent demand for her to yield to him and after a moment because she was not the type give in easily in anything, it worked. Groaning in frustration at her situation, her lips parted and Fenris wasted no time deepening the kiss until soon he was in danger of losing himself in it. Drawing short he suddenly pulled away, leaving her looking at him slightly dazed. Swallowing hard at the sight of her, eyes lidded in arousal and lips already swollen by his kiss, he worked hard to school his features. Leaning forward he growled lowly in her ear.

“What am I?” he asked. “To you, what am I?”

Hawke shuddered at the tone, blinking at him as he pulled back to look at her expectantly. She knew somewhere that this question was important and that she had better get it right. Straining to put two thoughts together and failing miserably she swallowed hard and decided the simple truth was her only ally. Meeting his eye defiantly though it was softened by arousal she whispered, “I don’t know.”

Fenris absorbed that, silently running through everything he knew of this woman, her quiet confidence, her bold action and her defensive and giving nature as well as her hidden pain and decided that this? This he could not only believe, he could live with. Admitting to uncertainty was not in her temperament. Hawke watched as he mulled that over for a few heartbeats as he scanned her face for any signs of deception and finding none, his eyes settled on her lips. Turning loose the tight reigns he had used to keep his own thoughts ordered he gave over to this desire, this thing that he had never felt before this woman.

That she matched him, whimpering as he once again took bold possession of her mouth but battling him for dominance just fired something in him that refused to back down. Pushing a leg between hers and pinning both her hands over her head in one of his, he let the other have its way, exploring with a rough slowness every inch it could. Each little sound she made just pushed him and when he found himself cupping the juncture between her legs, her hips bucking against the pressure and her brashness turned weak with want, he smiled to himself and slipped his hand under the waist of her breeches and into her smalls. First she gasped in surprise to feel his fingers slipping along her outer lips, but that soon turned to a groan that Fenris felt as his lips explored her throat. Slipping a finger between the lips of her sex he sought out and found the small hard nub there that Hadriana had taught him to look for.

Swirling slowly, lightly at first, flicking gently with the end of his nail just as he’d been taught, he pulled back to watch as her eyes closed and her knees tried to buckle at the intense sensation that seemed to shoot along each and every nerve in her body before settling deep inside her, slowly escalating with each teasing touch. Hawke was helpless under his administrations, capable of nothing but panting and squirming against him in an almost mindless need for him and Fenris couldn’t stop marveling at how she gave herself to him, making no demands and voicing no commands. That she could show such weakness was enough to make him burn with a want to do more. With a deep snarl he suddenly released her, catching her before she could crumble to the ground and throwing her over one shoulder, he headed for her tent where they would have more privacy for what he had in mind.

Throwing her down on bed, before she had a chance to register it he had pulled her breeches off and tossing them carelessly to a corner he latched onto her hips and pulled her until she was teetering against the edge of the bed. Dropping to his knee he roughly pushed her legs apart and replaced his finger with his mouth. Hawke groaned at the feel of his tongue, soft and yet hard as it teased at her and without thinking she arched, both hands seeking out her own breasts to tease herself further. Fenris watched this with a mixture of satisfaction and fascination. She was so lost in the sensation he was providing that nothing else mattered. Feeling a shot of pleasure that the hard lessons he had learned from Hadriana could do _that,_ he just worked harder to wrench her climax from her. Hadriana would have been sitting perched over him, hands stroking his ears and watching everything he did. One wrong move would have provoked a painful twist or pinch so he had learned fast and learned well it would seem. That he could use these lessons like this made him feel a victory that he would have been hard put to explain.

When Hawke slowly stopped writhing, her panting catching in her throat he knew she was hanging just at the precipice and with a gentle suck and a few flicks of his tongue he watched as he sent her over, everything in her intent on the crashing sensations that washed through her. He continued to tongue her through it, watching out of the corner of his eye at the muscles inside her thighs began twitching with each flick. Without thinking about it he pushed his hand down into his own breeches to begin stroking at his own hard desire.

When he retreated with a low groan, Hawke, even in her own receding throws looked down. Seeing his eyes closed and intent expression, she knew immediately what he was about and her eyebrows drew together in confusion. Sitting up she leaned over to lay her hand over his through this breeches. Fenris instantly froze in place, not even opening his eyes. Suddenly he realized that he had fallen back into habit because this was how this always ended with Hadriana. She wasn’t happy until she had watched while he did this to himself, wouldn’t leave until he had spilled his seed to the stone floor. Slowly he opened his eyes, almost expecting to see Hadriana hanging over him, watching with those dead blue eyes. His breath exploded from him to see Hawke instead, her eyes soft and understanding. Gently pulling his hand free of his clothes she coaxed him to standing where she hooked his waistband and worked it down to free him, letting his breeches drop to the floor at his feet.  Taking his hand, she scooted herself back onto the bed, drawing him with her as she did.

Fenris didn’t need more invitation that that, he was so hard it was verging on painful now. At first it had occurred to him to wonder, her own need satisfied why she would want this? He decided he didn’t care because this was also one of those things that had been denied him until their first encounter and he found himself burning with the knowledge that he was yet again going to taste forbidden fruit. This time he didn’t bury himself into her without care, this time he still had some sense of control of himself and this time he wanted to savor it.

Hawke watched as he settled himself slowly into her, both arms straight so that he hung above her. At first he had met her eye as he pushed inside her, but when she very deliberately tensed herself around him his eyes closed and his head dropped to hang as he took it in. Reaching up she ran her hands along his chest, flicking his nipples with her fingernails as he settled into a slow, steady rhythm. Clenching around him each time he pulled back, she heard him hiss and felt her own satisfaction at knowing she had taken his domination right out of him. He was hers completely now, just as she had been his. Pulling her legs up she hooked them behind his back and with small tensings she urged him in further still. Reaching up to pull him down to her, she kissed him with all the passion he had kissed her with earlier and he was too weak with his own want to resist.

Nothing mattered, nothing. The only thing he could focus on was the feel of her, the smell of her and the taste of her lips as she took complete control of him in a way that only a woman could. It wasn’t long before he felt his own climax fast approaching, and strengthening his strokes he focused on the hard tension behind it, seeking to find that moment of bliss when it broke loose. Tearing his mouth away from her he groaned before burying his face in her neck and giving over as he found the edge and quickly plunged over.

Hawke sighed as she felt him relax into her, sated and apparently content to remain where he was. She was more than happy to let him stay because he just felt so damn good. Running one hand along his shoulder, she completely ignored her own advice last time and considered what had just happened, mulling over what he’d asked. It made her reflect on her own answer and made her curious. Turning, she ran the end of her nose along the edge of his ear and grinning when he grumbled into her shoulder, whispered, “Why?”

Fenris didn’t respond for a moment, didn’t move. He knew what she was asking and he didn’t have any answers himself, just like he didn’t really understand how this had happened again when he had decided it shouldn’t. But she deserved a response he knew.

“I don’t know.” He returned her own uncertainty back to her, unable to think of any other way to put it.

She seemed to accept that and fell silent again, her nose still tracing along the edges of his ear. It wasn’t for a while that she spoke again and in that time he found himself surprisingly groggy, sleep creeping up on him.

“Fenris, I need to tell you something….”

Growling, he rolled off her onto his side and looking down at her a moment, decided he didn’t want to leave and was too tired to examine the reasons. Gently he pushed her over to her side, wrapped both arms around her and pulled her back against him. Settling himself so that his mouth was just behind her ear he murmured sleepily, “In the morning.”

Sighing she decided maybe he was right and let herself relax back against him. In surprisingly little time for two people unaccustomed to sharing a bed, both were asleep.

* * *

When Hawke wasn’t up and about as usual, Varric decided to go see if there was anything wrong. She had been in an odd mood since Warrick’s death and sometimes she worried him. Wandering back to the camp that they shared he stopped cold at the step to her tent. In their rush they hadn’t bothered to tie the flaps shut the night before and through the slit Varric could see a back that didn’t belong to Hawke on the bed directly across. Peering into the murk of the tent he decided that no, that most definitely was not a naked backside that belonged to _any_ woman and those markings that looked almost black from where he was could only belong to one person. Straightening up, he considered this a moment before turning smartly on one heal and leaving well enough alone. Maybe her odd mood wasn’t entirely over Warrick after all.

‘Might be for the best that Isabella isn’t here for this one,’ he thought to himself.

* * *

Fenris studied the woman in his arms. Somehow in their sleep she had managed to turn and stretch herself along him, head on his shoulder and leg over his and in his sleep he had simply accommodated her without waking. Until this moment he wouldn’t have thought that possible because unlike her, he slept very lightly. Somehow this woman had slipped under those defenses and he had slept with her at his ease and he wasn’t sure what to make of that. Just as he wasn’t sure what to make of what had happened to put him here in the first place. He had promised himself this would not happen again, that he would not allow himself the weakness that had prompted their last encounter and its awkward aftermath but here he was. How was it that this woman always managed to be there when the walls he’d carefully built fell weak and how was it she managed to breach them without trying? Because both times he had been the instigator he knew. If he really wanted to study it he’d been the instigator the night before he’d left as well, not pushing her away when she’d started playing in his hair as he would have anyone else.

He’d asked her what he was to her, but the real question here was what was this woman to him? In ways she was an enigma, with a past that had wounded her so deeply that she would deny _what_ she was, remake _who_ she was with a resolve that sometimes bordered on mania. In other ways she was clear as glass, with her brash determination to protect anyone she felt mattered, that she felt couldn’t defend themselves for whatever reason. With her desire to help, to make sure those around her were happy in a way that she herself seemed unable to achieve.

Was that what this was? This easy acceptance of him and his advances? Was she trying to make him happy? And what of himself? Was he just using her to put his own demons to the sword? It did not feel that way but how was he to know what it would feel like in the first place? Until that night she’d threatened to sew a bell to his ear he’d never known this… thing, this creature that lived inside him that he could only call desire. Sex had always been something he’d had to suffer, something that left him feeling hollow and angry – used. Every step of the way with her it had been different. She accepted him, allowed him liberties he’d never known, even encouraged them. She allowed herself to be weak to him and didn’t use his own weakness against him. She seemed to understand though he had difficulties believing that she truly did. She’d awakened this thing inside him that, though he knew its name Fenris still could not understand its nature.

What was this woman to him?

Something in her dreams caused her to stir and curled herself tighter to him and the hand lying on his belly to stray lower, innocently causing a tingle to start deep inside him. Sighing Fenris caught her hand in his and laid it gently on his chest. He was yet unwilling to give up his thoughts, even for that.


	20. Chapter 20

Hawke couldn’t really say what it was that drew her out of the fade but what got her attention and made her eyebrows draw together long before she was fully awake was the steady thumping under her ear. As consciousness slowly returned to her she started noticing other things - like the warm, smooth hardness under her palm and that something was tangled with her leg. Slowly these little things started adding up until, as she opened her eyes she remembered what had happened during the night and was at least semi-prepared for what she was going to see. The first thing she saw was her hand pressed flat to a chest not too far from the end of her nose, a chest that was laced with lyrium and rising and falling in a steady rhythm that told her he was awake. Closing her hand, she looked up to find him watching her. For once his expression wasn’t completely inscrutable, it was instead faintly amused. Blinking back as much grogginess as she could she studied him a moment. It had been so long since she had found herself in this position, waking with a man of any type in her bed that she discovered she had no idea what to say. That the man in question was this one? Well she was just at a loss. It must have shown on her face because the vague quirk of a smile he had grew until he was grinning down at her. Well that sure wasn’t helping so she just went back to looking at her hand.

Fenris couldn’t help the smile that overtook him. She just looked so… well he wasn’t sure but he knew it was endearing to say the least. Her hair was a tangled mess after what they’d done and the bleary and slightly dazed look in her eye as she tried to figure out just what to say made him think that she didn’t often do this. He was a little surprised when that thought pleased him. When she gave in and looked away he hooked her chin and as her eyes finally met his again he murmured, “It is alright.”

Hawke studied him a moment before nodding slightly and without giving it much thought Fenris pressed a light kiss to her forehead before cocking an eyebrow at her.

“You have very nearly slept the day away you know.”

Now that he had pointed it out she realized by the slant of the light and shadow on the sloping ceiling of the tent that he was right. She sighed heavily knowing that her sleep schedule, which had been mightily tested by a nagging on again off again insomnia, was now just completely destroyed. The fact that he had probably laid here for who knows how long awake and apparently waiting for her to wake on her own rather amazed her.

“Why didn’t you get me up?”

“Because,” he looked at her mock seriously and teased, “You have been looking overly tired for weeks now. Apparently what we did last night wore you out enough that you were completely out. I didn’t have the heart.”

The reminder of just how wanton she’d been brought a flush and Fenris chuckled at her as she tried to figure out where she could bury her face and finding  that there was nothing she sighed, resigning herself to his pleasure at her embarrassment.

“Go on,” she grumbled, staring at her hand again. “Enjoy yourself.”

Hooking her chin again Fenris dipped his head until his lips lightly brushed hers before murmuring, “I fully intend to.”

* * *

Hawke sat on the end of the bed and watched while Fenris went hunting for his clothes. She’d gotten as far as finding her tunic before she’d been distracted by him. Their first two encounters had been intense, harried affairs that were over fast. This last one had been the exact opposite with both of them taking their time to explore and discover. One thing she had found was that he had fine scars in more than a few places. She let her eye fall on a scar that ran along his hip, one that she knew exactly where it had come from. If Danarius’s description of the wound had been remotely accurate it should have been much worse than it was because even the best healer could only do so much. That it was as faint as it was she suspected had to do with the lyrium. She knew that lyrium enhanced magic could knit old wounds further and it wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty to work with. Sighing as he covered it with his reclaimed breeches, she knew she couldn’t put this off any longer.

“Fenris….”

He paused at her weighty tone, looking at her curiously. Where had this sudden heavy mood come from? Without bothering to look further for his tunic he sat next to her, trying to put the suddenly sad and daunted look she had into some context and failing. Waiting silently as she worked hard to find words he was suddenly reminded of that day she had told him about her sister. Whatever it was she was trying to say must be serious indeed. After a moment she seemed to give in and without a word she got to her feet and went to the table. Picking up two of four books that sat there, she turned and held them out to him.

“These are yours.”

Eyebrows knotted in confusion, Fenris took them without really looking at them, looking at her instead. Sighing she pointed to the top volume.

“Do those look even a little familiar to you?”

Looking down he paused, studying the leather cover and realizing that was Danarius’s sigil carefully embossed on it. He knew this book. Flipping it out of the way he realized he knew them both. They had all sat on a desk in Danarius’s rooms. For as long as he could remember they had sat there and sometimes Danarius would spend time writing in them, reading through them. She must have picked them up the night she had killed him. Looking back up at her, his mouth bowed in confusion, he nodded.

“I know them.”

Hawke sighed and struggled for words. She had rehearsed this so many times and so many times she had metaphorically thrown her hands up. She couldn’t prepare for something when she just had absolutely no clue what his reaction might be. Finally she gave in and just knelt in front of him, laying her hand on the cover of the books in his lap.

“Fenris this is you. Danarius kept notes for years while he tried to work out how to do this,” she paused to run a finger along one of the brands on his hand before looking back at him. “Those books… they tell that story. And they tell the story about how you came to be involved in it all.” Struggling when his face went suddenly blank, she finally just shrugged. “This is you, and there is no one in the world who deserves to have these more than you.”

Fenris looked at the books under her hand, muscle along his jaw working furiously and the only indication of what might be going on in his head. Hawke watched silently, heart beating so hard in her throat she was sure it was going to explode. He sat that way for a long time before looking back at her.

“You have read them,” he finally said, his voice harsh with something.

“Some of them, yes. I stopped because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know more. It wasn’t fair to you.” She pulled her hand away and considered her words carefully. “That is your story and it’s yours to tell, or not. Same as mine.”

“How long have you known…”

“Not long. When I realized they were notes and not likely something that would be worth anything I put them away and never read them. I had forgotten about them until I ran across them a few nights before you left for the raid. I just…” sighing, she dropped her head and looked at the hateful books. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I knew I didn’t want to tell you until you got back because I didn’t want you to get hurt because you were distracted by them. But with everything that happened…” She struggled hard but just couldn’t continue, couldn’t even work up the nerve to look up.

Fenris regarded the top of her head before looking at the book again, trying hard to untangle the knot of things inside him and having no success. Running a finger along the sigil he was suddenly angry, angrier perhaps than he had ever been in the whole of his abbreviated memory and knew that though this anger had no intended target, it would not hesitate to burn anything that got in its sights. Dropping the books to the floor with a loud, harsh and echoing boom, he stood and stalked towards the door.

“Fenris…”

He stopped but didn’t turn, just held up a hand to warn her now was not the time and disappeared. Hawke watched him go, stared blankly at the flap of the tent until it stopped waving behind his departure and then looked back to the books that lay scattered before her for a long while before bowing her head over them and doing something she hadn’t done in a very, very long time – she cried. Not for some sympathetic pain she felt for someone else, she cried bitterly for herself.

* * *

Fenris’s retreat caught the attention of Jerost, the look the elf had enough to pull him short and freeze the words he’d been speaking. Several of the assembled men looked oddly at Jerost until they realized what he was looking at so strangely. That Fenris had earned their respect in battle was without question, but most were still nervous of his standoffishness and cold demeanor coupled as it was with his eerie fighting style. Varric, for his part just blinked at the shirtless elf as he stalked away and wondered what had happened this time. Without thought both men peeled away from the assembled, Jerost to follow Fenris and Varric to find Hawke.

* * *

Jerost followed without trying to be subtle about it until Fenris was well away from the camp, ironically enough following the same path that Hawke had the day she had wandered off and he’d followed. When it had become apparent that the elf was leaving the camp his concern shifted from what might be about to happen to his people and became a concern for the elf himself. Fenris didn’t know who it was that was behind him and didn’t really much care. He was too wound up in trying to tamp down this beast inside him, one that was intent on doing damage to something at any cost.

“Fenris!”

Recognizing the voice Fenris decided that this man might just understand. Ignoring the sharp edge of resentment at the commanding tone that he recognized all too well and swinging around, he stalked back at Jerost, brands now blazing bright and watched as Jerost backed away from him, a petty part of him pleased. Without thinking Fenris thrust his arm forward, barely missing Jerost’s head and sinking deep into the wood of a tree that Jerost had accidentally cornered himself against when Fenris had flared. Turning his wild snarl to Jerost he took in the dusky, dark haired man standing before him and bit out, “What?”

To the man’s credit, once he realized that Fenris was not about to kill him Jerost managed to school his features into something resembling authority and ignored Fenris’s glowing brands as well as the arm stuck into the tree almost to the elbow as he regarded the elf.

“What are your intentions here Fenris?”

“My intentions,” Fenris gritted out, “Are to go where I can be alone for a time. Or do I have to ask permission first?”

Jerost’s eyebrow shot up at that and refusing to be baited, he nodded. Stepping to the side to get away from the uncanny sight of Fenris’s arm and countenance, he reached back and pulled his sword from its sheath and planted it deep into the sandy soil. Pointing to it, he turned and started back the way he came. Much as he wanted to he managed to resist looking back. He had seen Fenris do a great many things, but sinking parts of his body through solid objects was a new one and he hoped he never saw it again.

Fenris stood there for some moments, breathing deep and trying to reign in his burning anger before, removing his hand and taking the sword, he stalked into the rainforest. This time he followed no path.

* * *

Varric sat at the edge of the bed and seriously contemplated whether or not he could get away with killing the possibly dangerous, surly and broody, was tasty now fancy, on Hawke’s short list former elven slave without getting _himself_ killed. If Fenris didn’t do him in for trying he was well nigh on sure that Hawke might. He knew the urge to do him harm was probably not fair to the elf, but in all the years he had known Hawke he had never seen her in such a state as he had when he had entered her tent. He hadn’t even had to ask, it had all just tumbled out of her between fits of sobbing. Then she’d gotten angry, throwing things so that he’d had to dodge more than one missile, even pitching one of the books so hard Varric had heard the heavy tent canvas it had connected with tear and made a mental note to have a look at that later. It had taken no small amount of coaxing but he had finally convinced her to sit and drink some of the Tevinter wine she kept squirreled away. Finally, most of two bottles later and emotionally exhausted she had settled and fallen asleep.

Looking over his shoulder at her, lying curled tight into a ball he wondered if he should leave or not. He knew she was still plagued by nightmares involving Kirkwall and this was almost a guarantee that she was going to dream. That she was upset was without doubt, but he wasn’t entirely sure he was understanding why. Sighing heavily he wished Isabella was here. She seemed to understand Hawke when she was upset better than he ever had. Probably a female thing.

Sliding off the bed, he went to slip out of the tent but stopped cold when he saw Jerost sitting in one of the chairs around the central firepit. Eyebrow cocked, he wandered over and plopped down in the one chair sized for him which Jerost had put next to the one he’d claimed. Jerost gave him a crooked smile and held up a gourd that Varric knew would be filled with one of the many cordials that the Fog Warrior enjoyed. Shrugging Varric accepted it and took a pull from it before handing it back. This one was spicy. Both men stared at the low fire for a few minutes before either thought of speaking.

“How long have you been here?”

Jerost considered that question a moment.

“Long enough.”

“Ah,” Varric sighed, knowing that probably meant he’d heard the whole story. “The elf?”

“Gone,” Jerost shrugged at the surprised look Varric shot him, “Said he was going off to be alone for a while. Maybe he’s planning on communing with nature for a bit.” Smiling faintly at the disbelief that Varric painted across his face at his mocking remark, Jerost sighed. “Course his idea of communing probably involves no end of destruction.”

That Varric could wrap his brain around and he nodded in agreement.

“Hawke?”

“Asleep. And I’m hoping she stays that way for a while.”

Jerost nodded and took his own draw on the liquor before deciding that maybe this is what becomes of a man so intimately marked by magic. _He_ definitely seemed to make a mark on anything he brushed up against, and that was a fact.

* * *

Tansina shot a sideways glance at Hawke as they both sat at the side of the stream washing clothes, silently noting how she had fallen still, staring off into the gently flowing water. Hawke had come out of her tent the day after her fit acting as if nothing had happened, but her general quiet told anyone who knew her that she was far comfortable with it. Each day that passed without Fenris returning just seemed to make her quieter, more contemplative. Varric had told Tansina that the only reason he wasn’t more worried was that he knew what a black mood looked like and though he wasn’t entirely sure what this was he knew it wasn’t that. Reaching out Tansina laid her hand over Hawke’s. It startled her out of her reverie, but she still sat watching the water as it rushed past.

“Marian?”

Hawke looked up then, unused to the sound of her given name. The only people who had ever used it were family and they were all gone. Well, not Carver but he tended to call her Hawke like everyone else. She wondered absently what he was up to now that he was regent, ruler of Kirkwall in all but name. She hadn’t heard from him in quite a while, and Isabella was bringing reports of the Templars rebelling against the Chantry now. Although they were never particularly close, sibling rivalry tending to be a contact sport for the two of them as they grew, she wished him no harm. She never had though he had sometimes not returned that favor.

Sighing Hawke sat the wet tunic in her hands down and looked at Tansina. The elf was watching her with a soft expression that Hawke couldn’t quite identify and wasn’t sure she wanted to. She knew what they all thought, but how did you explain to them how wrong they were? Her mood wasn’t Fenris. As much as that hurt it wasn’t that. It was… everything. She felt like every hurt both large and small she had ever had in her life had come back to haunt her all at once, turning her into a bundle of raw nerves battering against everything in her life. Fenris was just a small part of that whole. This was what her black moods were made of but she had come to realize something that kept her from sinking to depression the way she always had before – she’d realized that it would pass.

“I’m okay.” She turned to look back at the water, and taking up the tunic she went back to wringing it. “I just need some time.”

“Well,” Tansina assured her, “Time isn’t unlimited. You have to treat it like its precious.”

“I know,” Hawke sighed. “Believe me I know. Every chapter in my life has this very distinct and abrupt ending. Lothering – gone. Kirkwall – still there but cut off from me. Family – gone one by one until all I have really are the family I’ve created on my own. Who knows how long until they are gone? I just keep wondering how much longer before the axe falls here as well.”

Tansina considered that for a moment, knowing now that what Hawke was doing was mourning. Mourning all the ‘what ifs,’ and ‘could have beens’ in her life. Mourning that she hadn’t had a ‘normal’ life and that where ever she went strangeness seemed to follow.

“Sometimes I envy him,” Hawke sighed. “His lack of memory. I know he would never understand it but sometimes it would be nice to not have ghosts.”

“But Hawke,” Tansina fired back gently. “Your past makes you. _That_ is what Fenris is struggling against every moment. He has no past so he has no sense of himself. He’s had to make himself, _is_ making himself even now. Danarius convinced him he was a weapon, a thing to be used and put away until needed. I think what happened with the other encampment marked him deeper than Danarius ever could and that is why he offered himself up to us. He has his own ghosts, Hawke. That he was spared,” she paused to shrug and wring at one of Leto’s small shirts. “Well now he has to make himself again. He’s discovering that he is a man, for all the extras that have been pressed onto him. He bleeds, just like you, just not for the same reasons.”

Hawke thought about that for a moment.

“Then why did he run when he could have had the truth?”

“Because he had resigned himself that there was no _truth_ to be had. And I don’t think he ran from it, I think he left because he needed the same time you need. I think the _option_ woke something in him that he needed to work through. I definitely think he will be back, soon as he’s put his demons to bed. I’m not entirely sure he’s really left.”

Hawke blinked at the elf, completely amazed that she was so confident and equally convinced that there was something Tansina wasn’t saying. But she decided to leave it and went back to what she had been doing, but this time thoughtfully. Tansina watched Hawke a moment before turning to her own laundry. What she wasn’t saying was that one morning, not more than a week after his departure she had come out of her tent to find a sword planted firmly in the ground at the step. She’d recognized it instantly as Jerost’s and knew that he had given it to Fenris the day he’d left. Though she had never done it she was sure if she went to Fenris’s tent she would find his own sword gone. She never saw him but he wasn’t the only one with sharp hearing, she’d heard him moving about her camp several times, always in the early predawn. Tansina was sure if he wanted his presence known to Hawke he would have done so, so she didn’t say anything. Instead she took a comfort from knowing that not only was he physically at least fine, he was still held to his promise to watch over her and her children.

* * *

Night had fallen with gentle swiftness hours ago, covering the forest in a cloak of anonymity which only Mother Nature herself could completely pierce. With it had come the denizens of the dark – the frogs, the insect, the snakes, birds and bats - that knew only the gloom of night. Their aggressive territorial calls, mournful cries for mates, and harsh dying throws were echoing through the trees to create the music that was the Seheron rainforests. A place where life was more abundant than just about anywhere else and where no matter the cost of ownership to the humans, elves, dwarves or Qunari that haunted her skirts, life would continue unabated until the end of time. Seheron bowed to no master.

Tucked almost protectively, as if the forest knew at her heart that these people meant her no harm were the Fog Warriors, a random assemblage of individual camps collected together to create a home for some eighty souls. Like the forest they were a capricious assortment, brought together by necessity and time and like the forest their roots run deep, intermingling until sometimes it was hard to tell where they had come from before. At this late hour there were few awake and fewer about, mostly the guards who had placed themselves in pairs at strategic intervals around the camp. Their job was to protect the innocents that slept within their circle, those that labored to provide for those who fought and those that were the future of their struggle, and not only from those who would see them stamped from the face of Seheron but also from Seheron herself. She was a fickle mistress.

But there was one, hidden in the deeper shadows, who had not only evaded their best efforts he had also sidestepped even Seheron to be there. He sat silent and still as any tree in the dark – watching. Watching one tent, the light of a lantern flickering inside, the shape of a woman dancing against the canvas as she sat reading. When finally she closed the book, she had sat still as he and as lost in thought. Finally the lantern dimmed and the dark claimed the tent as she curled up in her bed, thinking that sleep would elude her but somewhere thankful when it did not.

* * *

Daylight prodded and Hawke resisted. This had been the first night she’d slept deeply and without haunted half remembered dreams since… well since the night before Fenris had left. Burrowing deeper into the pillow she considered that as she rebelled against the thought of having to face yet another day feeling like something was wrong with her. Why did these things happen to her? There was no answer she knew, or at least none that was satisfying in any case and she sighed. Resigned now because she could feel the vestiges of sleep slipping through her fingers she finally slitted her eyes open.

She saw him immediately, sitting in the only chair in the tent, holding one of the books in his hands and head bowed over it. One finger traced absently at the sigil one the cover. Taking him in she saw that he was visibly thinner and dirty, little bits of things clinging to his hair. His knuckles were scraped raw, as were a few other places that she could see but otherwise he looked fine. Sitting slowly, like she was afraid he would vanish like a dream, she silently watched him and saw that his throat was working furiously against whatever it was that had lodged itself in there. She thought about going to him but knew that he would not thank her. Whatever had driven him into the forests and whatever had finally driven him back, he needed as yet to stand against it on his own.

“You…” he paused to swallow hard at the lump in his throat that had made his voice harsh, made that one word sound like an accusation. He was pleased when his voice betrayed nothing when he tried again. “You have read these? You know what is in them?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a small thing, even inside the silence of the tent.

He finally looked up at her, watching through his bangs so that she couldn’t see.

“You will read them to me? You will teach me to read them on my own?”

Hawke simply nodded and something inside him broke, shattered like the finest crystal Danarius had ever owned against the stone of her quiet acceptance of his need. Bowing his head over the book again, he returned to tracing a finger over the raised sigil he so intimately knew and silently wept.  When Hawke saw the tears falling on the cover of the book she was torn from her stasis and kneeling before him, she hooked his chin. No longer capable of fight, he just looked at her until she reached out to draw him to her. The book hit the floor with a resounding thud but neither one of them heard it as his knees landed next to it and he buried his face in her neck, arms wrapped around her so tight she very nearly could not breathe. She made no complaint, simply held him and stroked the hair at the nape of his neck as he gave silent voice to a loss that she could only vaguely understand and thought back to something her mother had told her once long ago. She’d said that everyone, not matter their stature or standing, needed someone with whom they could be weak. Hawke herself did not lack for people that she would trust with her life, would trust with even her deepest pain and harshest secrets even if she didn’t always do it. Fenris had her alone and even that had been an accident of fate. But the hard truth of it was that in the end? That didn’t matter.


	21. Chapter 21

Varric stood at the step of Hawke’s tent, looking at the man sleeping inside, then looking at Hawke as she pushed him back and followed him out. Looking at her with both eyebrows raised questioningly, she just shrugged.

“He was there when I woke up. I don’t know.”

Varric looked back at the slit of the tent thoughtfully a few moments before sighing.

“Anyone told Tansina?”

“No,” Hawke shook her head slightly. “He’s exhausted Varric, not in any shape for visitors. Let him do it at his pace.”

Nodding as he recognized the protective healer in her coming out, he decided his first stop was going to be Jerost. He would want to know that Fenris was back in the camp. The Fog Warrior had on several occasions these last few weeks commented on the marked elf, wondering aloud if he was okay.  Varric suspected that something has passed between them because until now Jerost had mostly viewed Fenris as a possible threat to his people, only agreeing to accept him because he didn’t want to lose Hawke and because he figured it was better to have him where he could keep an eye on him. Now he seemed to be viewing him more _as_ one of his people and as such was concerned for his welfare.

“Take care of him then,” Varric sighed, “And let me know if you need anything.”

Hawke shrugged and returned to the tent where she took up the same chair in which Fenris had watched her sleep to watch him now do the same.

* * *

She could hear them outside, sitting by the firepit and quietly chatting. She could indentify each of them but they kept their conversation low so as not to disturb so she had no idea what they were discussing though she suspected she knew. He was still asleep as evening approached. If he dreamed, he gave no indication because he had not in all that time moved. Hawke had struggled against the desire to pace because she was afraid it might wake him so instead she had sat and lost herself in thought.

She had decided in his absence to read the rest of the story, deciding it was information she might need if he should return. Unlike Tansina she hadn’t had an unshakeable faith that this hadn’t been the push that would send him off forever. It made her cringe even now, knowing what he had been through and not just with the struggle to cope with his markings, but also with Danarius himself. Probably never thinking anyone else would ever read those journals he had been indecently frank about his favorite slave and she now knew far more than she had probably ever wished to. But there was one thing she had learned that she knew would make Fenris’s skin crawl - she knew how Danarius had found him all those years ago when he had been forced to abandon him on Seheron.

Staring down at her own hands as they laid inert on her knees, she considered how and when she should tell him. Should she tell him now? Or wait until it came about in the books? Or should she confess to the knowledge at all? Chewing at her lip she admitted to herself she had no idea. She suspected that by the time it came about in the books he would be reading himself so technically she could probably get away without owning up to it, especially considering she suspected that right now she was the _only_ one who knew. Who knew how he would take _anyone_ knowing this.

So deep in thought that she didn’t notice when Fenris’s eyes slitted slowly open, she was unaware that he watched mutely as she struggled with herself, the evidence there on her face as she worried her lip. He knew that he was responsible, it didn’t take a soothsayer to know this and he felt a jolt of guilt. He was still at the heart of it amazed that she had ever once given him a thought, in Minrathous or here. He had given her every reason not to and yet there she was. She’d boldly stared down his demons when allowed, even when she was unaware that was she was doing and waited patiently when she wasn’t. She understood the pain, the anger, the helplessness, the guilt and the posturing to protect them even if she didn’t appreciate their roots. That he could not understand her own pain made him wonder if something in her was lacking in him.

Still groggy with exhaustion he stretched, wincing at all the stiff pains that his body issued indignantly, put out with him for the abuse it had taken these last weeks as he had worked to get perspective and then to pause and consider carefully the path that had led him there, what path he could take _from_ there. He could leave he knew and knew that his life could be infinitely simpler if he did. He could remain where he was though that daunted him. He was after all city born and bred, this he was sure of since he really had no idea how to go about doing much more than existing in any other environment. Or he could return. No matter how hard he had tugged at them though, the threads that connected him to this Fog Warrior encampment had held him firm.

Broken from her reverie, Hawke watched him as he tried to face down his own physical pain and burn off the fog of the Fade. She’d grown so accustomed to her own stillness in the hours he’d slept that she didn’t move other than to turn her head. When he finally decided he’d done all he could he fell back into the mattress, relaxed and unwilling to do anything that might change that. Rolling his eyes back to her, he decided that what he did want was to hear her voice.

“Say something.”

Hawke’s mouth quirked up at the edges, amused by his somewhat imperious tone because she knew he didn’t mean it.

“Like what?”

“Tell me something of Kirkwall,” he sighed. “I have been many places with Danarius but most were within Tevinter. I would know something about your home.”

Hawke thought about that a moment, musing at his curiosity and debating what to tell. Refusing never once occurred to her.

“The Free Marches is a big place full of city-states that do not always get along. It’s like this big dysfunctional family, everyone may hate everyone else but woe to the one who threatens even one member, even one not in good standing. Suddenly the wrath of the whole comes crashing down. Kirkwall is like that in some ways as well. Hightown looks down on Lowtown, Lowtown looks down on Darktown and Darktown just thumbs their noses at them all because they know if you are there? You have it in you to survive anything. Templars sneer at the Guard for being a simple police force, the Guards sneer back, convinced that the Templars are overstuffed with importance. In the middle of it all is the Viscount, the one person who has to walk the fine line that balances it all and keeps the peace.” Hawke sighed. “Thankless job which means that no one is ever entirely happy with you, nor entirely against you, or at least at the end of the day you lay your head down hoping not because the alternatives are not attractive.”

Fenris turned his head, regarding her with an expression she couldn’t identify and considering all the things he could see hiding between her words, her tone before replying.

“You sound like you very well understand this?”

Hawke sighed and decided that now might just be the time to out with it.

“I should. Technically I am still the Viscount of Kirkwall.” She paused when his eyebrows both shot up and his mouth bowed with surprise. “I really don’t ever intend to return, that part of my life is over. I left my brother in charge as regent and last I heard he seems to have found himself a niche in life and is succeeding where I merely fumbled. I am far too direct and that might be admirable in a Champion, it is less so in a Viscount. My balancing act was wanting. I still feel a hard responsibility for the city but I know that I have left it in good hands. Carver is better than he ever gave himself credit, Knight Commander Cullen is a good man even if we did not see eye to eye and I know that Aveline would die for even the lowest citizen of the city, much as Donnic wishes she wouldn’t. With them to shepherd the city I felt comfortable with leaving.”

The more she spoke the more Fenris backpeddled. Viscount? This woman was a ruler? Even if only in name? Sitting up he couldn’t help staring at her, completely at a loss as to what to say or even what to think. Hawke watched him try and take it all in and was vaguely amused that she had managed to so flabbergast him. This was the reason she had told no one in Seheron except Jerost. The leader of the camp deserved to know exactly who it was that he was accepting into his extended family and she had understood that only too well from hard experience. It was something that always seemed to make even friends look at you different, made them feel a discomfort even if it might be slight and she had always hated that. Varric and Isabella were quite possibly the only ones even among her friends that had completely ignored the trappings of her new station and continued to treat her like she was still this Ferelden immigrant that happened to be an apostate mage that happened to stumble blindly into their sphere of influence. Or had it been the other way around? Who knew anymore.

“You are….”

“Viscount,” Hawke struggled against a need to grin at him.

“You are….”

“Not ever going back no. Not unless something truly horrible happens and I am needed, no. I am still her Champion if nothing else.”

“You just….”

“Left, yes. I was in a position to do it and I did. And I have never truly looked back. I miss my house though. I love being here and doing what I am doing, but I miss my house. Having four solid walls…” Hawke sighed. “And a roof that doesn’t leak when the rainy season gets to its worst.” Looking up at the offending ceiling she sighed again. “A bed, oh a bed that isn’t lumpy. And miss my Mabari. He’s gone now but I couldn’t bring him with me when I left because at the time I had no idea where I was going. So I left him with Carver. It was an accident that I ended up with him in the first place but I wish sometimes that I were in a position to have another.”

Fenris pulled a face suddenly, deciding that this was too much, too fast so he would pick one thing.

“You had a Mabari?”

“Yes,” Hawke chuckled. “That is a story unto itself. That was back in Lothering, when I was young.  An Ash Warrior was stranded in Lothering by a blizzard and he ended up staying the winter because that year was snowy and cold. While he was there one of his bitches whelped.  Well baby animals of any kind will draw children like magnets but these were _Mabari_!Every time we turned around Bethany and Carver would disappear to go look. This was the same year Father died, and Mother would send me after them. Well I will admit that I was as much child back then as adult and I would end up playing with the pups too. Eventually one decided he was coming home with me.” She sighed and shrugged slightly. “And the next time I was there he did it again. After the third time he had to come retrieve his pup the Ash Warrior gave him to me, said he’d picked me and wouldn’t be any good to anyone else. He didn’t seem to be upset about it, just kind of resigned. Said that pups that age generally didn’t imprint like that.” Looking sadly down at her hands, she wished not for the first time she hadn’t left him. “He was an old dog when I left Kirkwall, and I had no real notion at that time where I was going to go. Just hopped Isabella’s ship and off we went. I always intended to send for him once I settled someplace but he died before that happened. He loved my family as much as they loved him so I know that Carver was good to him….”

Fenris watched her swallow hard at the lump in her throat and realized that somehow he wasn’t surprised.

“You know that in many circles, even in Tevinter having a Mabari is supposed to be a mark of character.”

“So I have been told,” Hawke nodded slowly. “I have no idea how true that is.”

Fenris cocked an eyebrow at her but let that go.

“Look Fenris, they have a little party going on out there waiting for you to make an appearance. Kind of funny really, like _you’re_ the royalty.” When Fenris just sighed resignedly, she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Another reason I didn’t much care for the Viscount title actually. I don’t mind being recognized, got that a lot as Champion, but I didn’t much care for just absolutely always being scrutinized. Why they cared that I had butter-toast in the morning I don’t know, but they did. But,” she paused to pluck what looked like a bit of dried leaf out of his tangled hair, “At least these are your friends, not just total strangers.” Pulling a face she held the leaf bit out at the end of his nose. “What _have_ you been doing?”

Fenris just looked at her a moment, knowing the question was rhetorical but prickled all the same and replied evenly, “Communing with nature.”

“Well next time,” Hawke fired back as she suddenly stood, “Take a brush. I’ll be right back.”

Fenris watched as she disappeared out of the tent, and sighed when she started issuing orders even if he only knew that by her tone because she kept her voice down. It wasn’t long before silence fell and he knew she had sent everyone out there on some mission. Drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms round them, he sat his chin on knee and fell to brooding, once again about Marian Hawke. It was becoming something of a habit.

When she returned she opened the flap of the tent and started piling things in. Looking at her oddly, he realized what she had in mind when she pushed a large wooden bucket full of steaming water in before wandering in behind it. She had a bag slung over one shoulder that he recognized as one of the healer kits that they took with them on raids as well. Sitting that on the table she pulled the bucket to the center of the tent and then pulled the chair next to it. Turning back to him, she pointed at the floor in front of her.

“Come here.”

Blinking at the tone she used, one he was sure she used as healer quite often, one that wasn’t going to brook with any argument, he decided to do as he was told. Once he had she started by scrutinizing all the minor wounds she could see before she reached down and started pulling up his tunic. Wincing and knowing she probably wasn’t going to be happy with what she saw, he pulled his arms up and allowed her to take it off. Hawke hissed at the bruise across his ribs, one that had ripened to an obviously painful dark hue and dropping his shirt she immediately started gently palpitating. He could have told her that none of his ribs were broken by the fall he’d taken but knew she wouldn’t be satisfied until she knew that for herself so he gritted his teeth and let her have her way. Once she was finally happy she silently pointed at his torn breeches, one eyebrow cocked authoritatively. Shaking his head at how one human could be so imperious without uttering a word, Fenris started pulling them off.

Once she saw he was doing what she wanted she went to go dig through one of her chests, pulling out soap, towels and a washcloth. When she turned he had sat in the chair without being told. ‘Well good,’ she thought, ‘At least I’m not going to have to fight him to get this done.’ Dropping those items next to bucket she went in search of her own brush. Having found that, she stood behind him and started gently trying to work the tangles out, plucking bits of things out and thinking on one occasion she was going to have to cut one out before the knot finally worked loose. Focusing on what she was doing she tried not to wonder what he’d been up to in order to get this way.

Fenris quickly decided he now understood why Danarius had always had him brush his hair for him and ignored when she found a stubborn tangle, instead focusing on just how pleasant it was to have someone else groom him. It wasn’t long before his eyes closed and he found himself so relaxed he was in danger of falling asleep again. Smiling to herself as he almost slumping in the chair, she took more time than was actually needed just because it was so obvious he was enjoying this. Finally she sighed, knowing the water wouldn’t stay hot forever. Setting the brush on the table she took up a cup instead and gently pulling his head back so it would be over the bucket she pushed behind the chair with her foot, she began pouring water over his white locks. Fenris didn’t fight, simply allowed her to do what she wished without even opening his eyes and before long she was soaping his hair, the soothing scent of lilacs permeating the air around them. ‘Sometimes,’ Hawke mused, ‘it is good having a pirate as a friend.’ Once again she took more time than was strictly needed before she started pouring water to rinse. Trading the cup for a towel, she squeezed out the excess water as she smoothly pushed his head back up.

Sighing and refusing to open his eyes, Fenris was almost sorry it was over until a warm, wet cloth was pressed to his shoulder and the smell of flowers once again grew stronger. When she silently pushed he leaned forward to allow her to slowly run the cloth along his back, working weeks of sweat and dirt from him. As she worked her way up to his shoulders, he couldn’t hold back a contented sigh and behind him Hawke smiled. He was he realized starting to understand a lot of things Danarius did because as she worked at his shoulders he could feel a tense tingle that was beginning to become familiar starting up. The fact that this was being done willingly, with no demand or force or even simple request just made it that more erotic to him and deciding he didn’t wish to sully this experience further, he pushed Danarius out of his mind and instead focused on the pleasant feel of her hand as it guided the cloth up and down the front of his neck from behind.

This was Hawke realized, starting to get away from her. It really had begun with nothing but a healer’s desire to clean him up and see to his wounds but had somehow turned into something beyond that. That he had submitted to her without question and was happily allowing her any liberty she wished was just enough to take her breath away and the healer in her was struggling now against the woman in her, something that had never been capable of drowning it out before. Leaning over him so she could start working on his chest, one arm wrapped around him and just absolutely taking in the view, the healer in her acquiesced, admitting defeat and crawling off to lick its wounds. More than happy to allow its exit now, she turned to run her nose lightly up the back of his ear, enjoying the hiss when this unexpected gesture registered.  Wrapping her other arm around his shoulders while the other continued to work its way slowly down, the cloth it held now barely leaving a soap trail anymore, she flicked his earlobe with the end of her tongue and smiled when she felt more than heard him growl. He didn’t move, just sat and allowed whatever she wished to do and looking down over his shoulder, taking in that he was already getting hard, she decided she knew exactly what she wanted. Dropping the washcloth, she laid her hand flat to his stomach and slid it down to his thigh, deliberately brushing him as she did. When his breath hitched in his chest she couldn’t help feeling a sense of power that she could do this to his determinedly dominate male. Slipping her hand down between his legs she gently urged them apart so that she would have all the access she needed before sliding her hand back up to lightly graze her nails along every inch she found.

Fenris was completely lost in all the sensation she was eliciting and without thinking he let his head fall back against her shoulder as she nuzzled at his neck and teased him to a state of arousal that just was completely out of his experience. Sighing as she finally took him in her hand and slowly began to stroke him, working gently at the hard knot of sexual tension she had created, he finally buried his hand in her hair so he could pull her back enough to slant his lips over hers. She responded by tightening her stroke and when he gasped weakly she pulled back against his hand, meeting his gaze.

“You like that?” she whispered.

Fenris swallowed hard and nodded mutely.

“Good. But let’s see how well you like this instead.”

Never letting her gaze lose his she slipped around him, pushing a knee between his to force them further apart, she knelt between them. Still holding his gaze, and still slowly working her hand along him, she grazed her tongue along the swollen head. When a bolt of sensation shot along him, he closed his eyes and groaned. Pleased with herself she continued to tease at him with both her tongue and her hand until finally she decided as she watched his hands clench into fists that he had had just about as much as he was likely to take. Slipping her mouth over him, she slid down until she felt him buried in the back of her throat. Almost immediately his hands were in her hair, holding her there a moment while he struggled to take in what was happening and just how damn good it felt. Finally his grip loosened and she settled herself into a slowly escalating rhythm.

Fenris watched what she was doing, completely incapable of looking anywhere else as her lips, tongue and teeth teased at him with increasing demand. Gasping and trying to make sense of all these sensations and failing completely he finally just gave up and turned loose of anything that looked like cohesive thought. As the tension in him tightened, he used his hands in her hair to urge her faster, harder until finally with a crashing sensation that had his heels planted and hips bucking up into her he felt himself spurting into her mouth. Every muscle in him twitched madly as she continued to gently suck and flick her tongue against his slowly softening erection until finally he pulled her away and leaned down to kiss her, taking no argument this time as he deepened it, tasting himself on her lips and amazingly feeling satisfaction that it was there at all. Finally breathless he pulled back, laying his forehead to hers as he struggled to get control, eyes closed. When she lightly ran a finger down his jaw he finally opened his eyes.

“I guess you liked that huh?” she teased lightly.

Nodding his head slightly as he looked into her eyes he could plainly see her satisfaction that she had brought him to such a state right there in them.

“Yes,” he managed though his voice was much deeper than he could remember ever hearing it. “I have to say I did.”

“Good.”

Swallowing hard he kissed her again, this time without hard demand. Instead it was as tender and grateful as he was capable of making it. As much as Hawke enjoyed this warm, affectionate side to him, one that she had only seen glimpses of really, she knew that he at least had an appointment to keep.

“You,” she whispered, “Have an audience waiting. We need to finish getting you ready.”

Fenris sighed deeply and nodded.

“I have no idea what to say to them.”

“You don’t have to say anything Fenris. Whether you realize it or not, they are your friends and they understand.” Chuckling when he shot her a dubious look, she wasn’t sure which had brought it on – that he had friends or that they understood. “What I mean is that everyone has moments like this Fenris. If you don’t then you led a charmed life and this merry little band has led anything but that. You might be more extreme, but your circumstances are more extreme and they get that. They understand.”  Still unconvinced but willing to accept that Fenris nodded slowly and Hawke smiled, the healer in her satisfied that this wound was starting at least to knit.

* * *

Hawke paused what she was saying to watch as Tansina took her leave, standing at the edge of the camp with a sleepy Rionna clutching at her dress and Leto gazing over her shoulder as she spoke to Fenris. Something he said made her smile sadly and reach up to lay a hand against his cheek before she turned to usher her family into the dark between camps to find their own. Fenris watched her go a moment, almost like he wasn’t sure what to do now before turning back to see her watching him. He smiled wanly and she knew they had been talking about Warrick. Sighing she looked back to see that her suddenly silence had diverted Jerost’s attention to the scene as well.

“Every day that man surprises me,” Jerost stated finally. “And not just what he can and cannot do.”

Hawke nodded but didn’t say anything. He was constantly surprising her too.

“You know, some of the other encampments think I am insane for ‘taking strays.’ That’s what they call this… motley assortment we have here. Elves, humans, dwarves, former slaves, former privateers,” pausing he inclined his head to her, irony painted along every weathered line in his dark features, “Apostates. Shame they don’t know the rest of it. I think they might die of shock but it might be worth the looks if nothing else. But after ten years on a privateer one thing I did learn was that no one is any different from me. We all cry when we’re hurt. And,” he paused a moment as Fenris appeared behind Hawke, laying a hand on her shoulder, “We all need someplace to belong.” Glancing up at Fenris, Hawke saw he was scrutinizing Jerost thoughtfully. “But beyond even that truth something I learned out in your world is that the strongest swords are made by mixing metals. If there is anything out there that I can add to this one? I will not hesitate. My people deserve no less.”

Fenris nodded. He had suspected that Jerost had not spent his entire life on Seheron. He had to respect the man for his devotion to not only his cause, but also to people and their welfare. No one went without anything they needed even if all they needed was a hand and he understood that what Jerost was saying was that Fenris now had that hand. Not entirely sure how to respond, he simply inclined his head before stating simply, “My sword is yours.”

Jerost simply chuckled.

“As is mine.”

Fenris smiled ironically at Jerost before inclining his head again. Looking around Jerost realized that the hour was late enough that even Varric had already retired and they were alone. Turning his attention back he eyed the hand that Fenris had laying possessively on Hawke’s shoulder a moment, noting to himself that neither one of them seemed to understand just how loud that simple gesture really was. Smiling to himself, he decided it was time to go.

Fenris watched as Jerost and Hawke bid each other a good night and suddenly felt as out of sorts as he had when Hawke had ushered him out of the tent several hours ago. He had spent the entire evening completely aware of Hawke and every move she made, his mind going back again and again to what she had done. He still wasn’t sure how to feel about it, but he was sure that the thought of it happening again made him break out in gooseflesh. He knew he didn’t want to leave, knew what he wanted but wasn’t entirely sure how to ask. When Hawke sighed and turned back to him she paused and looked at him. Something of what he was thinking must have been there for her to see because she didn’t say anything, just held out her hand. Gazing at it a moment, Fenris took it without fear.


	22. Chapter 22

Varric pulled open his tent flap and looking out at a surprisingly bright scene before turning his eyes up. What little he could see of the sky peeking from between the thick foliage of the canopy was blue, telling him that usual clouds pregnant with potential rain were for now at least absent. Sighing happily he sat on his step and began pulling on his boots. The rainy season had arrived in Seheron and the character of its precipitation had changed. Instead of occasional afternoon showers that were steady and over quickly there was now an almost constant threat of rain causing a gloom that signaled some types of trees to drop their leaves to litter the forest floor and begin growing new. Most however were evergreen, constantly replenishing themselves. The rain now was heavy, falling in hard downpours at first before settling into a heavy, steady shower that sometimes lasted hours.

Just as he finished pulling on his boots, habitually wiggling his toes to set them comfortably in the heavy leather, Fenris stepped out of Hawke’s tent. Pausing to stretch and look up the elf looked more than comfortable with his environment, having not even bothered to button his shirt before coming out of the tent. Raising a hand to the elf Varric was unsurprised when he simply inclined his head and turned his step to leave the camp. He was Varric knew going to his own tent. Shaking his head, Varric thought back to a conversation he had had with Hawke about this. He had wondered why Fenris didn’t just admit the obvious and either move into her tent or move her into his but Hawke had just shrugged. ‘He needs his own space,’ was all she said.

Over the months since Fenris’s return, Varric had watched as the relationship between the two had deepened until Hawke he knew had become absolutely devoted to the elf. Though the elf was harder to read, often just as moody and skittish as he ever was, he wasn’t as easily angered and Varric suspected that had a few influences. Tansina he knew was pleased with the turn of events, happy beyond measure that the lost and damaged elf her husband had come to respect enough to introduce into his family was finding a measure of the peace and happiness that Warrick himself had found. Even the universal attitude in the camp toward the man had begun to shift with the obvious endorsement of both Hawke and Jerost. Although there was still a general nervousness, Fenris was now enjoying a quiet and gradual acceptance. ‘Tansina and Rionna’s obvious trust sure doesn’t hurt,’ Varric mused to himself. That a child innocently gave her unconditional love was nothing to sway them, but that Fenris so gently treated her, constantly accommodated her and without thought came to her assistance in any situation were the factors that had most softened the view of him. Varric suspected that Fenris had no clue that the light touch of these three strong, determined women was probably most responsible for the obvious taming of the wilder parts in him.

Looking back up once more Varric wondered if he would make it to Jerost’s camp where he habitually went for breakfast before the Seheron changed her mind and the rains moved back in.

* * *

Taking advantage of the break in the monotonously dreary weather that this one determinedly bright sunny morning afforded, Hawke and Tansina had decided a picnic lunch was in order. Grabbing up anything they had on hand that could be made into some portable meal they hadn’t wasted time drafting both Varric and Fenris to help. Before long they were all in the one open place close by - the practice field. Even the damp ground couldn’t slow them down as Tansina came prepared with a large piece of the same waterproofed canvas that was used to make the tents. Laying it out before covering that with softer sheets, held down in the breeze by rocks and fallen limbs, it didn’t take long for the feasting to begin. Soon, everyone well sated, they were lazing about in the extraordinarily humid heat, all knowing that this same humidity would make them pay for their fun later in the day when it created a thunderstorm. Rionna was running about in the now tall wild grass, plucking the flowers that the rain had unleashed on the whole of Seheron.

“Hawke!” she chirped waving her over. “Come here!”

Sighing, not really wanting to move in the heat she squinted up at Fenris from where she lay with her head on his knee. He was smirking down at her, knowing exactly what she was thinking.

“I think,” he stated with exaggerated levelness, “You have been summoned.”

Groaning as she pulled herself up, she groused, “I’m the one supposed to be summoning people.”

“I don’t think she’s impressed with titles Hawke,” Fenris chuckled.

Thinking about that for a moment Hawke shrugged.

“Well that’s good. Neither am I.” Stretching and glancing out to the shade where Tansina sat with Varric playing with Leto. “Mine sure didn’t make a mark on me.” Standing she wandered off to find out what the little girl wanted.

Watching her go Fenris sighed. He still found himself occasionally amazed at not only the changes in his life, but that anyone would want to hold out a hand to help. That a woman the likes of Marian Hawke ever gave him a thought spoke so much to her character that the fact she was a mage was least of his worries. Until the rain had set in he had started joining her for her early morning practice rituals, not only to keep his own body and muscle memory sharp, but also help teach her the best ways to defeat a warrior such as himself. Every evening she sat patiently, reading to him from the first of four books or helping him learn to recognize the letters by having him painstaking sketch them out in the dirt around the fire. As often as not his nights were spent curled protectively around her, sometimes needing that physical contact after what he had learned from her reading. But other times he needed space, time to think about things and get some perspective. Those nights he would return to his own tent, laying on his own bed alone and staring up at the slope of the tent in the dark. No matter she always seemed to understand.

Turning his attention away from Hawke as she knelt down in the grass with Rionna to Tansina and Varric, he was had to suppress a smile when he saw that Varric was holding Leto up above him, making faces and pulling the smiling baby down to touch noses before lifting him again. Hawke had sat him down before the first time she had read to him from Danarius’s journal and explained to him the significance of that name. Leto, he mused, understanding now why it had so discomforted him. It didn’t feel… right to him. He wasn’t that person anymore he was sure though they hadn’t gotten to those parts of the books. No, he suspected he would be forever Fenris even if the origins of that name still chaffed mightily. It was… comfortable now and probably far more accurate. When Tansina glanced up to see the serious expression he’d taken on at the direction of his musings her own smile died, eyebrows knotting. Seeing this Fenris shook his head slightly to say he was fine and silently reflected that his name was far better given away than it would ever be kept. Let someone try to prove its meaning inaccurate for Warrick’s son and they would absolutely deal with him.

Tansina might not have understood the suddenly broody expression that Fenris carried but she very well understood the fierce one that flitted across his face as he went back to watching Varric and her son. She recognized it from her husband, who had for weeks carried a similar one after Rionna’s birth. The helplessness he had felt during her hard labor had translated into a hyper-vigilance once it was certain that he wasn’t about to lose his wife and child and it had taken weeks before he had relaxed into fatherhood. She knew that it would please her husband that Fenris was so protective of his family and she was suddenly sad. Looking at the happy smile on Leto’s face, a face that every day looked more and more like Warrick, she wished not for the first time that things had been different.

Hawke sat crosslegged with Rionna nestled in her lap, patiently showing the girl how to weave the flowers she had collected into chains she could use to make necklaces and crowns. The six year old had just enough dexterity to get through it and soon was making her own with a little encouragement. She was so lost in concentration that she had fallen silent as she worked and Hawke watched over her as flowers of all types and colors began taking shape. When she smiled brightly up at her and popped up to lay her first creation over Hawke’s head, carefully working it past her ears, Hawke was completely unprepared when with crashing sound something came falling out of the thick underbrush that lined the edges of the clearing farthest from the camp. She had just enough time to register bronze skin covered with smeared red bodypaint and a healthy set of horns before she snatched Rionna up and began backing up slowly.  When a the head raised and a pair of brilliant violet eyes hooded under a heavy brow fell on her she knew beyond any shadow of any doubt she was in trouble.

“Fenris!”

Fenris was already on his feet, the sound of the Kossith falling through the brush having set him from relaxed to ready, his hand landing instinctively on the sword he had laid next to him. Once he’d seen Hawke snatch up Rionna and back away he hadn’t needed to see precisely what has happening because she blocked his view, he knew that she wouldn’t panic without reason. Once he had rolled up to his feet and saw the form before her, just starting to pull himself up with a sword in one hand Fenris came close to losing all sense of himself as his brands flared brilliantly. His sword raised menacingly he silently charged the threat he saw to his newly founded world. The wild eyed snarl on his face made an impression on the stoic Qunari because he wasted no time getting to his own feet and taking a stance to defend himself against the smaller, faster and glowing elf and at the impressive sight of this Kossith on his feet Hawke began backpeddling faster. Before either man could do anything another form ran from the dark of the forest, throwing herself in front of the Kossith warrior and facing down Fenris with yellow eyes unflinching. Fenris faltered. A woman? A Qunari woman? They did not fight he knew and this one was protecting the warpainted man, knowing that any Fog Warrior on Seheron would know this and the warrior behind her _allowed_ it. Positioning himself between this unbelievable pair and Hawke, he stood ready to cut them both down should either so much as breathe wrong. Behind him he heard Hawke put Rionna down, calmly telling the crying girl to go to her mother and ask that Varric go get Jerost. He heard the little girl run, heard Hawke as she took up a stance behind and to the side of him, studying the pair as hard as he was.

Now that they were apparently at a stalemate, the woman whispered something to the man she was leaned against. He looked at her with an expression that clearly said he thought she had lost her mind as he replied in a gravely voice. Fenris’s brows drew together momentarily as he understood what had passed between them and waited to see what would happen. She looked over her shoulder at the man, voice harsh as she repeated herself and held out her hand. Sighing, obviously not happy he turned his sword over to her, firing a sharply defiant look at Fenris as he did. Letting one eyebrow raise slightly Fenris watched warily as she took the sword in both hands and took a tentative step closer before holding it up, her head bowed over in supplication.

“I… means no… harm?” she struggled with the common tongue. “I… Tal Vashoth.”

Fenris took that in, deciding that if she was not only willing to surrender their only weapon but also shame herself by showing she had a less than perfect grasp of the common tongue, he was going to be the last person to refuse the gift. The rest of it could wait.

“Hawke,” he growled without taking his eye off the two, “Take the weapon.”

Cautiously Hawke approached the much taller woman, carefully taking hold of the sword. Pausing once her hands were on the weapon, Hawke quickly studied the woman that towered over her. She refused to meet Hawke’s eye, looking instead at a point somewhere around her shoulder. When Hawke didn’t pull the sword from her she released it, dropping her arms and as Hawke backed away she realized just how obviously strong even this Kossith woman was. Fenris watched eyes narrowed as the man followed Hawke’s movements alertly, now ignoring him completely and felt uncomfortable that this man was on the same page as the woman. Hawke must have been thinking the same thing.

 “Fenris?”

“Take that somewhere out of their reach,” he gritted, “And find Jerost.”

Nodding at his back, she backed slowly away, not wanting to but understanding the sense in what he was asking. As soon as she had a decent distance she turned and sprinted to the tree line on the far side. Tansina and Varric were gone, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before Jerost would be there so she planted the sword deep in the soil and turned back to silently watch.

Fenris turned his attention back to the woman as she stepped back again, head still bowed and eyes on the ground at his feet. Now that Hawke was gone he felt himself relax just a little, knowing that if anything went wrong it was only himself at risk. Her expression was stoic, but her yellow eyes which now refused to meet his were anything but resigned to her situation. They were sharp and alert and very intelligent. Turning his eye to the male, his stoicism was tinted with just a hint of defiance, just a flicker of recognition as he looked down his broad sculpted nose at the elf. Studying what was left of his warpaint after who knew how long in the forest and how many rainstorms, Fenris realized this man was a member of Ben-Hassrath, the Qunari guard. Looking back at the woman, her own ‘roll’ not so obvious he realized that it was entirely possible that he was _her_ guard. That he did as she requested even when he didn’t care to was telling. It was not unusual in the outer fringes of the Qunari society for important administrators and priests to have their own guard in case of a raid by the Fog Warriors or an outright attack by Tevinters. But if that was the case he should have cut her down the second she had turned Tal-Vashoth. Looking back to the man, Fenris cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Ben-Hassrath,” he grated harshly in accented Qunari. “Why do you not relieve this woman of her shame?”

That got both their attention as their heads snapped back a little in surprise to hear their language, muddled as it was by a Tevinter accent from this unusual elf. The man regarded Fenris thoughtfully a second before growling contemptuously, “Tevinter.” Fenris refused to be baited and simply repeated his question, ignoring the woman completely as she quietly studied him.

“Her shame is my own,” he finally snarled, lip curling in disdain that he had to explain this. “I am Tal-Vashoth.”

Fenris regarded him a moment before nodding, then with a voice dripping with equal venom he announced, “I am _not_ Tevinter.”

Both looked hard at the elf a moment before the man nodded though his expression did not change. He understood that this elf was also Tal-Vashoth even if he did not openly admit it. Suddenly his sharp violet gaze snapped to a point over Fenris’s shoulder and he knew that Jerost had arrived. Now that he paid attention he could hear the steps of all the warriors in the camp with him and as they approached, he stepped back and allowed his tense stance to relax, his brands falling dark and muscles trembling with the fatigue he had until now refused to acknowledge. Resheathing his weapon as the varied weapons of the camp took careful aim at the two he turned and laid a hand on Jerost’s shoulder, whispering “Tal-Vashoth.” Jerost’s chin shot out just a touch to show he understood as he stood studying the two.

“We see them occasionally,” he whispered back. “They never cause us trouble, always run back into the forest. Why are they here?”

Fenris glanced over his shoulder at the woman, who now met his gaze thoughtfully.

“I don’t know.”

* * *

Hawke stood studying the woman as the others debated this newest turn of events. Both Tal-Vashoth sat on a bench outside the tent, a dozen weapons trained nervously at them as they calmly ignored them. Her open curiosity was returned without reservation now and the woman closely scrutinized both her and Fenris who stood next to her looking into the tent.

“They don’t understand,” he murmured. “They are more concerned that she knew how to find the camp, they don’t understand the significance of the rest of what she told us.”

“Jerost knows,” she returned quietly. “But he has to deal with the imminent threat first. He’s going to have to move the camp, because if she knew then others might as well. His first concern will always be his people.”

Fenris paused to look at her, studying her profile a moment. She had been remarkably quiet, watching in silence as the Tal-Vashoth were separated and questioned individually. Fenris was not the only person in the camp that had a working knowledge of the Kossith language and it hadn’t taken long to understand that the male was unwilling to respond in more than monosyllables. The female however, she had sat and told them a tale that if true had implications beyond Seheron. Hawke had taken it in with an inscrutable look that had him wondering what was going on in her head.

“What of you?”

Turning to look at him he watched while more than a few things flickered across her face before it went to stone cold.

“I am her Champion,” she stated flatly. “Their safety will always come first, even before that of her Viscount.”

Fenris blinked, not at all sure he understood that.

Turning suddenly, Hawke took three steps into the tent and bought her fist down on the table, causing wooden cups to jump and in some cases to spill their contents. In the sudden silence she looked at Jerost across the table levelly.

“I’m leaving. And I’m taking her at least with me.”

Jerost held up a hand to stop the protests her action was already starting to create.

“By all means, take them both if they care to go with you. I can think of few things I would rather not have underfoot than Tal-Vashoth. The Qunari will follow them like your Mabari trying to kill them off. But,” Jerost’s head ticked to the side as he regarded her. “Why?”

“An Armada?” Hawke fired back. “If she is to be believed they are building an _Armada_ , and that isn’t just to take out Tevinter and you _know_ that. With an Armada they can literally overthrow the whole of Thedas. The only thing that sent them packing the last time were _mages_ ,” she paused to let that sink in. “Magic in vast quantities brought heaping down on their horned heads was the difference and now the Chantry has lost control of its mages, lost control even of its Templars if Isabella’s reports are to be believed. There is nothing to stop them Jerost. Nothing.”

“You mean to warn them,” Jerost nodded thoughtfully.

“No,” Hawke ground out as she turned on her heal, “I mean to save them, from themselves if necessary.” Without another word she left the tent, Fenris staring after her as surprised as the rest. In the corner where he tended to take up residence so as not to miss anything, Varric chuckled and downed the last of his dwarven ale before following her.


	23. Chapter 23

She lay staring at the sloped ceiling of the tent, listening to the occasionally robust snoring of her former guard, contemplating her new circumstances. She was she knew not out of danger by a fair shot but her gamble had worked, at least to a degree anyway. She had the attention of this Fog Warrior cell long known to the Qun to harbor outside influences. Now she needed to parlay that into a chance at getting off this forsaken island with her skin still intact. She didn’t care where, as long as it wasn’t Seheron or Par Vollen.

Her ability to speak this ‘common tongue’ that these people required to communicate might be limited, but her understanding of it was far better and she knew these people were frightened of her and what she could represent to them. She didn’t see the point to telling them that no one would ever know exactly where she had disappeared to because she had been careful. Deciding when she was given a guard that amazingly enough shared her doubts and discontent with their regimented life that she was not going to just run at the first chance, she was going to plan her escape carefully so that she wouldn’t be one of the casualties that showed up in her own reports – the ones that the Ben-Hassrath hunted to extinction. She had carefully destroyed or replaced each report that might have given a hint as to where these ‘Fog Warriors’ were, covering their tracks even as she covered her own.

Carefully she considered the woman, the one that stood silent, the one that her guard had startled when he had misjudged just how much weight the woody vine he was using to support himself as he watched what she and the child had been doing could take, the one who had left everyone in the tent stunned as she left though she couldn’t say why because she didn’t have ears that sharp. She was not a Fog Warrior and her sharp eyes missed little, seeing between the cracks she was sure. This one had a strength to her, just as the unusual elf that had started showing up in her reports recently had, and unlike the Fog Warriors, this woman had nothing to keep her here but friendship. This one might just be her ticket out of here if her sense of duty to her homeland where ever that happened to be was stronger than her ties to the island.

* * *

“Hawke….”

 “I have respected you and your need for space again and again.” Holding her hand up to forestall any further questions she wasn’t entirely sure she was up to answering at the moment she looked at Fenris and sighed, softening her tone as she continued. “I’m not asking you to leave; I’d actually prefer that you stay. I just can’t do the questions right now. I can’t.”

Fenris suddenly noticed how sad she looked under all that hard as nails façade she had built for herself as she listened and considered the implications of the Tal-Vashoth woman’s story. He realized that it was his own fear that was driving him, fear that something was going to happen out of his control, fear that she was going to leave him behind. Nodding, he ran his fingers down her cheek before forcing her chin up so he could brush her lips with his. Gazing into her eyes he left himself open to her so that she could see all the things he just could never find it in himself to express openly. Hawke simply laid her head on his shoulder and buried her face in his neck, needing the strength he had and the protected feel he conveyed every time he wrapped his arms around her. Her past was finally catching up with her and she felt lost, like she was drowning in every choice she’d ever made. She also knew she didn’t have a lot of time to stand around feeling sorry for herself. Sighing, she decided that now was probably as good as any time to tell him the truth. Or as much as she dared.

“Fenris,” she asked quietly, “What do you know about the beginnings of the mage revolt?”

“Not much,” he responded softly. “Just that it involved the destruction of a Chantry.”

“That it did,” she sighed. “The Kirkwall Chantry.”

Fenris pulled back enough to look at her. She sighed and pulled away to sit on the edge of the bed.

“By that time I was Champion, and I was forced to sometimes stand between the Knight Commander and First Enchanter Orsino. Meredith I had no respect for. She was by that time completely insane, saw blood magic in a nosebleed. Orsino on the other hand was a good man, one put in a very bad position by Knight Commander Meredith. He was helpless to protect his people from her, had no recourse against her by Chantry law.” Pausing to look up at him she took a deep breath. “I know this might sound insane coming from an apostate but I have nothing against the Circles as a concept. But like most good ideas once you mix in people it always gets fudged. If they operated the way they were meant to they would be fine, but they didn’t. Granted most were better than the one in Kirkwall but as a rule mages were allowed almost no liberties. And I’m not talking about the liberty to walk out among common folks firing off spells, I mean basic human needs. Fenris you lived without kindness, without love? That is what the mages in Kirkwall’s Circle endured. They spent weeks locked in their rooms, rooms that were originally built to hold slaves and convicts. They weren’t allowed to fraternize at all, forget the opportunities to have relationships, even friendships. They were constantly watched, constantly interrogated, sometimes beaten for no reason at all except some Templar’s imagined slight. And that is the least of the Templar’s crimes against the mages in their charge that I heard of, the worst was making mages tranquil for the slightest offense.”

She stopped, trying to tamp down the anger she even now felt and staring off into her past.

“I never wanted what happened. I respected Grand Cleric Elthina. She was this moderating force between Meredith and Orsino and she calmed the fears of Kirkwall more than once. She kept a city calm for years even though we would later find out it had good reason for its paranoid view of mages because the Tevinters left behind more than just statues and chains. Not just through Meredith’s rule when we had no Viscount, or when the Qunari were literally sitting at our doorstep for reasons unknown. I was just… blind I guess. I never once thought that Anders would do something so… evil.”

Fenris listened attentively, trying to sort out the things she was telling him. When she spoke the name he well knew because he had heard her cry it out in her sleep more times than he cared to count, he held up his hand to slow her down.

“Anders?”

Her shoulders slumped.

“Anders was…. Anders was a Grey Warden. He would say _former_ Grey Warden but I don’t think there is such a thing. Once the taint is in you, it’s in you forever. He came to aid a friend, eventually landing in Kirkwall along with all the other refugees. And he was a healer, one of exceptional skill. Everything I know of healing I learned from him. But he had… issues.

“What he told me was that in his service to the Wardens he had to cross the veil in a place where it was so thin as to almost be nonexistent. While there he met a spirit of Justice, one that in ages past had been a Grey Warden. With the spirit’s help they defeated whatever it was they were there to defeat, but when they were expelled from the veil, the spirit was expelled as well and was trapped. For a time Justice inhabited the body of a dead Grey Warden and the Grey Wardens in Vigil’s Keep, out of respect not only to his service in ages past but in respect to his difficulties that were received while helping them, allowed him a place in their circle. And Anders came to have great respect for the spirit and they forged a friendship.

“Now whether it was Anders’ idea or something that Justice dreamed up I don’t know but somehow Anders decided to be a willing host for Justice. By the time I met him in Kirkwall it was done and Justice had become such a part of Anders that even Anders didn’t know where one began and the other ended….”

“Did I hear you right? This apostate Grey Warden was…” Fenris’s voice hardened as he spat out the last words, “An abomination?”

“I don’t know Fenris. Everyone knows about demons inhabiting dead bodies and willing mages but I had never heard of a spirit doing it. I guess you could say it was the same thing.” She sighed and shrugged. “But Justice or no Anders was a good man. He set up a clinic in Darktown as far from Templars as he could and he healed anyone, regardless of their station or standing and never asked for a sovereign for his trouble. He happily taught any anyone that wanted knowledge in healing, mage or no and never once asked a thing. He was a good man.”

“Why,” Fenris sighed, sitting next to her, “Is it I hear a great big ‘but’ coming?”

“I was young Fenris, I was desperate when I met him. I needed maps he had of the Deep Roads in order to get enough coin to get my family out of Lowtown and maybe enough to keep myself hidden from Meredith. And it was after father died. I was stupid enough to question the things he’d always taught us and impressionable enough to believe that Anders when he said that the Circle was evil. I’d never been in one and the only reference I had was what I saw in Kirkwall. But being Champion gave me a larger view and I began to realize that it wasn’t the Circle itself that was evil, it was Meredith and the abuses she tolerated that were evil. But by that time there was no moderating Anders’ view.”

Fenris considered that carefully before asking, “Did you know what he was going to do?”

“Absolutely no! If I had I never would have allowed it and he knew that!” Hawke shot a hurt look at Fenris. “No I think by that time Anders had come to realize that Merrill was right when she told me that he’d broken what he’d sought to save. And Justice had broken him just as sure. He wanted out and knew the only way to do it was to die and also knew that Justice wouldn’t allow it. So he did something he knew that Justice would approve of, knowing that there was no way he would be allowed to live. Even offered himself up to me after it was done….”

“And?”

“And I killed him,” she admitted in a small voice, eyes filling with tears she refused to shed. “I stabbed him and watched him die and he looked more at peace than ever he had during life.”

When she fell silent Fenris let her, quietly digesting what she had told him, trying to understand and failing miserably. Finally he looked at her and asked, “And the rest?”

“Meredith,” she sighed, “Invoked the Right of Annulment on the spot. I don’t know if you know what that means, but it gives her the right to ‘cleanse’ the circle. In her mind that meant every mage there had to die. It didn’t matter to her that it was an apostate that destroyed the Chantry, it was a mage and that was all that mattered to her. Orsino begged her, offered up every concession he could but she refused. And with the Grand Cleric gone there was no one to order Meredith to stand down or sooth Orsino. There was only me and they both asked my help. I had no choice. I was the Champion of Kirkwall. Kirkwall as a whole, and I had to look at it as a whole. The only way I saw keeping peace inside the city walls was to assist Meredith and slaughter hundreds of innocent mages – men, women and Maker save me children. Their deaths would save hundreds more.

“Knight Captain Cullen and I managed to save some from her wrath, ones that refused Orsino’s orders to fight, but that only turned her on me. When it was done, when Orsino was dead and the mages that chose to fight were all dead, she accused me of involvement with Anders’ plot, ordered that I be killed. She planned on telling the people I died in battle for a ‘righteous cause.’ But Cullen would have none of it and ordered her to step down. Even Carver stood between us, probably the first kind thing he’d done for me in years.”

“Did she? Step down?”

“No. Look Fenris there is a lot I haven’t told you about Kirkwall, mostly because it’s painful, not just to me but to the people who lived through it with me, like Varric. Know that there is more to the story than just she refused, we dueled and she lost but for now just leave it at that. Knight Commander Meredith died that day. The people of Kirkwall were tired of not having a Viscount, had already started asking why I didn’t take it, and when I supported them, even when that support meant killing their Knight Commander to spare more unnecessary deaths, the Templars gave me their blessings. And so I became Viscount, and it only took the deaths of over a hundred people to get it. Not only was I not very good at the job, every time I looked at my hands I saw their blood. So I asked Carver to take it. Being my younger brother he would be next in line should I die without heirs anyway.

“The biggest irony was that what happened in Kirkwall got twisted. I suddenly was a hero, not a murderer. I had saved mages from oppression when in fact I had only saved them from myself. I did not save anyone from Templar tyranny; I supported the Templars _in every way_ that day. Suddenly, just about the time I was leaving Kirkwall, I became this rallying cry for mages everywhere and they were rising up, throwing down Templars who had just come to complacently think that mages were dogs that would heel on command. Actually,” she sighed, “That’s not entirely fair. I know that not all of them are like that. Carver wasn’t, and neither were Cullen and a few other Templars that opposed Meredith in any subtle and no so subtle way they could find. I’m sure there are many more examples out there that believe in the principles of the Circle of Magi as Andraste herself set out. But I also know that there were an awful lot that believed no mage should be suffered to live, even imprisoned.”

When she just ran out of steam, her voice bitter by the end, Fenris sat watching her as she silently stared at the hands she had sat on her knee. She did that sometimes when she was lost in thought and now he understood why. Until now he had never really appreciated that she was torn between worlds, a mage without benefit of the same experiences as other mages and a secular world that viewed her kind as a threat to their continued existence. How ironic that it was the same perceived threat that might be needed now to save them all. He wasn’t at all sure what to feel or even think about what she had just told him and he knew there was more to this story she hadn’t yet admitted to – she had said so herself. But now he understood some of her reluctance to use her magic.

Somehow, somewhere along the way her status as apostate mage had just become… unimportant. That she was living everyday by her vow not to use it was proofed just today when instead of protecting both Rionna and herself as both Varric and her story assured him she was more than capable, she had instead called for him to defend her. He was starting to understand that the whole of your life was determined by the choices you make, or as in his own case were sometimes made for you, and that often as not your direction was determined solely by how the world perceived them. He was having a great difficulty meshing her experience with his own and complete understanding he suspected might be out of the question.

An Abomination? That part prodded hard at the core of anger in him that he had worked so hard to try to banish and that he suspected would never go completely away. She had associated with, even cared for an Abomination? No matter the man’s intentions his very existence was a blight on the face of all that could be seen as good in this world and she had aided him? Respected him? Respected him even now? Knowing what he was she still made excuses for his actions, actions that had repercussions across the whole of the continent, even in Tevinter and even for herself? No, that he would never understand and somewhere inside him he suspected that this was something he would never be able to forgive her for.

Lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t noticed when his silence had driven her to look up, taking in his own thoughtful countenance. After studying him a few moments and being completely unable to decipher anything from his expressions her nerve finally snapped.

“Say something please.”

Fenris mentally shook himself, looking at her thoughtfully.

“What do you wish me to say?”

“Anything.”

Sighing at the whipped expression, at the way she sat slouched like she expected to have the entire weight of his reactions heaped onto her and at the quaver in her voice he realized that she was sitting there terrified. Of him. Of what he would say or do now. Of how he was about to judge her and apparently expecting him to find her wanting. Somewhere deep inside him he was both pleased and appalled that this woman, who had spent the whole of her life living without much caring what other people thought, had bared herself willingly to his own opinions and prejudices. There she sat waiting for the lash to fall, convinced somewhere at her core that it surely was because she knew that out in the world she’d come from there would be no hesitation. Now he understood what she had meant when she had stated that her people’s safety came before that of their viscount. The second she set foot off this island she became a wanted criminal in the eyes of both Templar and Chantry alike. Her actions or more rightly how her actions had been perceived had painted a target on her that nothing would ever erase and he realized that she had brands as sure as he; hers were just more easily hidden and had no usefulness. Sighing again, this time deeply and tiredly, he slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.

No matter what, she was still Hawke. She just had more stigma attached.

“I do not know what to say Marian because I do not entirely understand.”

He was a little surprised when she burst into tears, burying her face into his neck and sobbing. Silently he held her, stroking her hair and all the while knowing that she wasn’t just crying because of his quiet acceptance, she was crying because she never expected to receive it and didn’t feel she deserved it.


	24. Chapter 24

When they had been allowed out of the tent which had sheltered them overnight, she had to look about in amazement. Once the decision had been reached that the encampment was to be moved these people wasted no time. Already tents were being emptied into packs, things that were no longer needed discarded and in some cases tents were already coming down. Looking up she guessed that it wasn’t even noon yet and soon the bulk of the work would be done. By this time tomorrow they would, she knew be on their way somewhere else and once there was no one there the forest itself would hide the evidence.

 A nervous looking human woman brought them… something, she wasn’t sure what to eat and though it looked less than palatable in reality it hadn’t been that bad. Her former guard certainly had no problem with it once he had gotten the hang of the small wooden spoon they had given him. Watching while he shoveled it in, she had noticed the woman standing off under the trees, carefully watching them both. Deciding to ignore her she ate her own… whatever.

* * *

It had been several hours and the vast majority of the camp was broken down now, only a few tents were left and she suspected they were there because of the rain. It had started several hours ago and was refusing to let up. Those that weren’t actively working to break camp and the children were all inside those few tents. They had been escorted to one of the many small camps that seemed to make up this encampment and put in a tent and left to their devices. The tent had two mattresses laid on the floor, both of which were too short she could see at a glance. Still it was better than the floor which is what they had slept on last night.

Looking around at the new situation, both of them dripping from walking in the rain, her guard had quietly asked her if this was part of her plan. She really didn’t have the heart to tell him that once they reached the Fog Warriors there really _wasn’t_ a plan. It all depended on them now.

* * *

The rain had finally stopped and for that she was grateful. The constant steady roar had started to work at her already tense nerves, as had her former guard. His answer to the monotony had been to pace but since there was very little room to do that he more or less settled on walking in a circle in the center of the tent where the ceiling was high enough that he wouldn’t be hitting his head. She had forced herself not to snap at him because she knew exactly how he felt.

The camp that they had been moved to was far enough away from the others that she really couldn’t hear anything at all now that the rain had stopped and she wondered idly what they were doing. Once, out of pure curiosity she had pulled open the flap only to find the tattooed elf sitting directly across the wet firepit from herself just inside the open flap of another tent. He hadn’t said anything, just reached back and laid a hand on the hilt of his sword and looked at her. He gave off the distinct impression that he would like nothing more than for her to test him so she had simply let the flap fall closed.

Behind her, her former guard had stopped pacing and watched the entire affair. When the flap fell closed he simply chuckled at her and in a small fit of pique she glared at him and laid down on a bed, back to him and eyes closed. She hadn’t expected to fall asleep but that is exactly what happened.

* * *

When she woke it was dark, the only light being from the firepit outside whose light filtered weakly through the canvas. Someone was moving about out there, occasionally throwing a shadow across the feeble light, but otherwise it was as quiet as it ever got in the rainforests. Her guard had abandoned pacing and now sat on his own mattress, eyes closed and obviously meditating. She had considered trying that earlier but didn’t think she could find it in her to focus inward when so much rested on so little. But if there was one thing that the Qun instilled in every member, even in those whose faith was lacking, it was patience.

Something out there smelled good and she heard her stomach rumble. She was just wondering to herself if they were ever going to be allowed out of this tent when the flap was tossed open and the elf stood looking in at them. The change in the light was enough to bring her former guard to sharp focus and he and the elf eyed each other cautiously. They were she knew, trying to size each other up, trying to get a feel for the other’s intentions. Apparently the elf decided that even if he didn’t trust them, he was at least happy that for the moment they posed no great threat because he cocked his head and said, “Care to join us?”

Glancing at her former guard and seeing that he was already getting to his feet, she scrambled to her own and followed behind him cautiously. Outside the night was black - no other fires, no other sounds but that of the Seheron night. Looking around she realized that once they had been moved to this camp the Fog Warriors had begun work in earnest and had left before dark, leaving them behind. Why? Turning her attention to the fire she saw the woman spooning some sort of thick stew into wooden bowls and sitting them to the side. Across the firepit a dwarf she recognized from when she had been questioned sat holding a mug, watching in silence. The elf pointed to chairs, ones that were short for the two of them but she folded herself into one with some semblance of grace and sat watching the woman attentively as she handed her a bowl. The elf stood behind them watching them both. He didn’t do it in quite the same manner as the rest of their guards had; he wasn’t the least nervous about their presence and as far as she could tell, neither was the woman.

“I know you can understand me,” the woman finally said, looking directly at her. “I am Hawke.”

Pausing with her spoon half-way to her mouth she took that in without looking at her and decided that this woman must enjoy games of chance. She couldn’t possibly know for sure that she understood the common tongue of these peoples, but obviously she had let something slip and she’d caught it. It really didn’t matter now though and her knowledge could make this easier. Looking up, she nodded. This Hawke didn’t give anything away, just looked at her thoughtfully a moment.

“What is, or more rightly I suppose was your role?”

She thought about that one, trying to figure out how to translate that for her and decided the simplest was probably the best.

“Ad… administrate?” she finally tried, shaking her head as she did.

“For what?” she fired back promptly.

Now she sighed. This could get more complicated. Looking over her shoulder at the elf she decided that her own language would be better.

“A Ben-Hassrath reeducation camp. Sometimes the best way to reeducate is to show the alternative in hard labor. My camp was tasked with procuring the wood required.” She waited while he translated that. “At the rate we are consuming wood the western side of the island will have none.”

Hawke nodded. The Qunari were clear cutting the island inside their own territory. The Tevinters were sure to know and that probably explained why they had started basically ignoring the Fog Warrior incursions into their own holding now. The Tevinters were worried and they were unsurprisingly not sharing with anyone. The Qunari were nothing if not pragmatic - if they took Seheron they would have an easily protected supply line for them to use to attack Tevinter and if they could take Tevinter then there would be nothing to slow them down. Tevinter had to understand that the White Divine had her hands full with her own problems and would not be in any position to help them even if they did raise an alarm. ‘But it would help if we had their input,’ Hawke thought to herself. Looking at Fenris she knew she didn’t dare set foot in Tevinter, especially with him. It would be like holding up a sign that plainly read, ‘I am an assassin, please come hang me!’ Falling silent she considered that.

Looking back at the Kossith woman, who was looking at her in frank curiosity, Hawke sighed.

“We are leaving the island and the two of you are coming. You,” she pointed at the woman sharply, “Had better work on your common tongue. I need you talking so as people can understand.”

Nodding slowly she managed to squash her elation. Getting off the island was just the short term plan. She very well understood that escaping Seheron only to have the Qun take Thedas was no escape at all.

* * *

“Hawke…”

“Varric you got me in Tevinter, found me that job and everything. You work wonders with every breath you take.” Hawke smiled endearingly. “I’m not asking you to get anyone into Tevinter this time I just want some information _out_.”

Varric wasn’t buying it. Waving a hand at her he leaned forward he pointed at her nose. “Yes, the sort of information that gets people killed. I don’t know that my contacts have those sorts of balls.”

“Well show them a picture of a Qunari mage and tell them to grow some! Tevinter has _got_ to be the first on their list.” Hawke sat back in her chair and looked at the two Kossiths sitting eating quietly across the firepit with Fenris watching behind them. “We need to know what Tevinter is up to. Frankly they are the only ones paying attention to the Qunari and they are the ones not completely wrapped up in challenging the Chantry. I hate to say it but we might need the bastards and for the exact same reasons the Qunari want them under their heel.”

 Varric stared at Hawke a few moments, digesting that and realizing that this picture already gave him heartburn.

“Why? Tevinter hasn’t been able to do anything with the Qunari up to now. What makes you think they are going to be able to do anything with them now? And we still haven’t figured out how to confirm what that woman is saying.”

“Yes I have and Isabella is going to shit kittens with big teeth and claws, but in a perfect world it won’t get us killed and her new ship scuttled,” Hawke paused when Varric suddenly sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, a look that said he couldn’t wait to see this painted across his face. Rolling her eyes she sighed and finished, “And in that same perfect world, I plan on getting them some help.”

Varric didn’t move except to cock his head at her like he hadn’t quite heard that properly.

“Help?”

“Help.”

“Tevinter.”

“Yes, Tevinter.”

Blinking a few times Varric started chuckling.

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” he smirked. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen this woman. Recognized the Champion the second you slammed that fist down on the table.”

Hawke’s head rolled back a moment, completely taken off guard before she snorted and walked away, deciding this was a conversations she wasn’t going to have right now. Especially not with Varric.

* * *

Hawke couldn’t sleep, there was just too much rolling around in her head and her brain refused to shut off. Sighing she sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. It also probably didn’t help that Fenris wasn’t here. He had volunteered to keep watch and was out there somewhere so she was forced to figure out how to turn the volume down on her own thoughts. Probably the loudest concerned what Varric had said. It had frankly never dawned on her that who she was now was so very much different from the woman she’d been in Kirkwall, but she supposed that there was really no way around it. Here she had different responsibilities, different worries and different duties. She wasn’t responsible for everyone, just the one sick or injured person in front of her. Not that this was less of an accountability, it wasn’t. She still held someone else’s well-being in her hands but at its simplest it was different and called for different thinking. It also called for her to pack away things like sympathy and disgust because there was just too much at stake for her to allow them to slow her down. Regardless of her feelings she had to use whatever tool was available or risk losing everything. Not just for herself, for everyone.

Sighing and deciding this wasn’t helping, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and started pacing, thinking and hoping to wear herself out.

Outside the tent, sitting on the step Fenris listened in silence.

* * *

Tansina trudged behind the person ahead of her, eyes down to the ground to keep from tripping over anything in the vague light thrown off by the torch the man next to her carried. Rionna was in his arms sleeping, Leto in a harness against her chest. The pack on her back kept her hunched over him and carefully picking each step as she went. Exactly why they had left an hour before sunset Jerost was keeping to himself but everyone knew it was because of those Kossith. The Tal-Vashoth had spooked the warriors; the fact that they had gotten so close to the camp had scared them all. Ordinarily if they were seen at all they would scuttle into the forest and disappear, acting as if they were as afraid of the Fog Warriors as the Fog Warriors were of them. More often the remains of their temporary camps would be found but nothing more.

Sighing as a halt was called for everyone to rest and plopping down onto an exposed root, she thought about her friends left behind with the former Qunari and not for the first time this night she sent a prayer that they would return safe. None of them had shared why they were staying but she got the impression that they each felt it was imperative that they do so. Fenris in particular had looked torn by his decision, but Tansina had assured him they would be fine if he felt his presence was needed elsewhere and he had seemed relieved at her understanding. Looking down at Leto as he slept she mused on how she missed them already.

At the other end of the line, Jerost looked back at the deep gloom that separated him from his friends and silently sent off his own wishes to his own gods. ‘May they find success in their endeavors with your blessings. And please,’ he prayed, ‘Bring them all home safe.’


	25. Chapter 25

Isabella slapped both hands down on the table in her quarters, putting every ounce of her weight behind the maneuver. Varric mused that the only reason they didn’t have a repeat of the scene in Seheron where everyone was scrambling to get out of the way of spilled drinks was because this table was firmly nailed to the flooring to keep it in place during rough weather.

“Hawke, you are insane! You can’t possibly think that I am going to do this!”

Hawke sighed and sat back in her chair, just looking levelly at her friend and not speaking.

“No!” Isabella waved a hand decisively. “I refuse to risk my ship, forget my crew in this lunacy!”

“Isabella…” Hawke started but was cut off when the privateer fired off another firm ‘no’ before walking from the room. Varric looked at Hawke, one eyebrow cocked before plucking his tankard from the table and following. Hawke sat looking at his empty chair a moment.

“You cannot blame her,” Fenris remarked from the corner he had taken up when they had entered the room. “You are asking a lot from someone who answers to no one.”

“I know that. I’ve been asking a lot from my friends for as long as I can remember.” Parking her elbows on the table she folded her hands and laid her chin on them. “And mostly it came out right. But if she won’t do this then we are going to waste time finding someone that will.”

Fenris pulled himself from the wall that he leaned against, arms folded and walked to the table where he crouched next to Hawke, looking up at her thoughtful expression. This was a face he was coming to be familiar with. Sometimes it seemed as if her mind never settled to rest, the lines about her eyes were testament that sleep was something she did little of.

“Hawke, there must be another way?”

“Not that I can see. Not unless you want to get out and stroll up to the dry dock. We got lucky that they aren’t doing this on Seheron proper because we wouldn’t stand a chance of getting a look. At least with the actual construction being done on one of the small islands off the coast we stand a chance of swooping through and getting away.” Pausing to look down at Fenris a moment she gave him a small, ironic smile. “And Isabella is always bragging this ship is fastest, that even the Felicisima Armada has none to match it.”

“Yes but you know she won’t risk it unnecessarily. Isabella values freedom over any treasure which makes this ship priceless to her,” Fenris argued, having come to understand the Ravaini woman more over time. “And those men are as much her family as you or Varric.”

Hawke’s head dropped and she stared at the table between her elbows.

“I know. And I hate asking, I do. I’m going to hate asking a lot of things before this is done, but I have no choice. I can’t go to Kirkwall with nothing but the word of a Tal-Vashoth. I need information, from Tevinter and from Seheron before I can go asking anyone to support what I have in mind.” Turning her head slightly she looked at Fenris seriously a moment. “Believe me when I say I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

Fenris sighed, knowing what was going through her head and knowing there was very little chance that no one would be unaffected. Reaching up he pulled her to him until their foreheads touched. This was harder on her than anyone was giving credit. Silently he gazed at her guarded expression before pressing his lips to her forehead.

“Well hopefully this doesn’t end with you needing to apologize,” he paused a moment before finishing with, “To anyone.”

* * *

“First she brings Qunari….”

“Tal-Vashoth,” Varric corrected, using his best ‘let’s all be reasonable’ tone.

“Whatever! Big and horned either way!” Isabella waved a dismissive hand at the dwarf without bothering to turn her gaze from the island off her port bow. “And now she has some idea that not only will I go anywhere near Qunari waters she wants me to run through them like my ass is on fire and my hair might be catching to see if we can get a look at Qunari dreadnaughts? And an armada of them no less? She’s lost her mind! Something on that island has finally caused her to go completely insane!”

“She’s not insane Isabella, she’s concerned. Stop and think this through,” Varric sighed. “If the Qunari are building a fleet then they have to have something in mind for it, don’t they?”

“Tevinter would be my guess,” Isabella snorted derisively. “Land full of mages makes for poor ship builders I will say that.”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t take an armada of ships of varying size and purpose to crush the Tevinter navy and invade their ports. And once they have Tevinter? What makes you think they will stop there?” Varric shrugged and leaned back against the side of the ship. “Why wouldn’t they keep going just like they did the last time? Remember your history; they were the masters of the one by land and two by sea method of empire building. And with better than half the lands of Thedas still in an uproar over free mages and uncontrolled Templars, would there be anyone out there that could stop them? Is anyone else out there even paying attention?” Sighing dramatically he took a long drink from his mug. “That’s what she’s thinking Isabella.”

Isabella looked down at the dwarf a few moments, mulling that over. Varric watched as her face transparently showed what she was thinking, flicking from one thing to another until finally she snorted and repeated, “She’s insane.”

“Yeah well that is exactly what they said when she fought the Arishok too.”

Isabella’s head fell back and she stared up as she muttered, “Oh Maker, not that again.”

“Just saying,” Varric shrugged. “She’s got a history of doing lunatic things that turn out to be not so insane in the end.”

Isabella’s head swiveled down, staring at Varric like he was a new insect with big pincers.

“ _She’s_ not doing it, she’s asking _me_ to do it.”

“And if she didn’t have faith you could, she wouldn’t be asking while she was on the ship now would she?”

“Oh I don’t know ‘bout that,” Isabella chuckled, turning to look back over her port bow. “She _has_ lost her mind remember?”

Varric let that go. He was pretty sure he’d won; she just wasn’t willing to admit to it yet.

* * *

“We traded a tent for a room, a small one at that.”

“But we are getting off Seheron,” she didn’t even look at her former guard. “That should please you.”

“It does,” he growled. “But I am going to learn claustrophobia at this rate.”

She chuckled, feeling some sympathy for the man. He was after all a head taller and way more solidly built than she was.

“They will learn to trust us. We just have to have patience.”

He thought back to the look the woman who was obviously in charge of the ship had had when he’d appeared over the rail and how she had immediately turned on the woman who had brought them. Somehow he had his doubts that it was going to be that simple.

“Not before I learn claustrophobia I’m sure.”

His serious tone caused her to laugh lightly and she reached over and pulled his hand into hers.

“We will get through this. These people need us and most importantly when it’s done they will _owe_ us.”

He looked down at her, face unreadable but she understood him enough to know that he saw the wisdom in her words even if he wasn’t entirely happy about the reality of the situation they were in. Finally he nodded once and sighed. Stoicism and confidence were bred into Qunari and as often as not happy and sad looked the same to outsiders. After a lifetime of dogma and indoctrination she could read the subtle signs that although still anxious he had relaxed. Smiling slightly at his profile as he stared off at the wall opposite, she tried to convince herself.

* * *

Hawke tried to take the fact that the ship had not moved from the cove when she woke the next morning as a good sign even though Isabella was nowhere to be seen. After several hours of watching her pace the deck Fenris decided enough was enough and snagging her arm he steered her to a pile of crates and made her sit. She watched him pull his sword and after sitting, lean it against the crates with eyebrows drawn until finally he sighed and looked at her levelly.

“You said you have not told me a lot of Kirkwall. Well now is a good time.”

Hawke’s head cocked, confused.

“You are worrying things in your head you can do nothing about right now. Leave off and tell me something about Kirkwall.”

Sighing she realized what he was trying to do and recognized he was right. Rather than sitting there trying to think of something to talk about and looking around she decided the beginning was as good as anything else.

“Getting to Kirkwall was probably the worst part of the Blight. At least when we were trying to get away from Lothering we could _do_ something. We were on a ship like this one, not quite as big though. Took two weeks to get there and the whole time we were stuck in the hold. We were told to bring our own food because the money we gave them wasn’t going to cover feeding too. But it took almost everything we had to just get on the ship so we didn’t have all that much left. Carver and I shared our part so Mother could eat. Don’t get me wrong, we were always poor and had to work for everything we had but we never went without anything we needed. I have never been that hungry and I hope to the Maker I never have to be again.

“Our whole first year in Kirkwall was like that. Mother had a brother there. We weren’t entirely sure what sort of greeting we were going to get since she ran off with an apostate mage but we were hoping since her family was well to do that he could get us in the city….”

“Wait,” Fenris held up a hand. “Your mother’s family was wealthy?”

“Well they were. The Amells were well respected in Kirkwall and apparently had old money. But when my grandparents died my uncle Gamlen took over and it didn’t take him long to go through it all. Eventually he had to sell the estate to slavers to keep his hide intact and by the time we got there he’d been in Lowtown for a long time. We didn’t have money for bribes and he certainly didn’t so the only way into the city for the four of us was for Carver and me to agree to work for one of the only smugglers in Kirkwall not beholden to the Coterie. We busted our humps for her for a year working off the bribe that got us in the city. Aveline helped where she could.

“We spent all that year teetering on the edge of disaster. There was never enough of anything, especially money. And back then Lowtown was not a pleasant place. There were gangs that roamed the streets looking for anyone to rob. They were worse after dark and unfortunately most of our work was done after dark. Carver and I both carry some scars from dealing with them.”

When she paused, Fenris stepped in. “Your mother left a life of comfort to elope with an apostate mage?”

“Yes,” Hawke replied with a hint of amusement that he was stuck on this of all the rest of it. “I don’t know a whole lot about it really. Father never talked about anything in the past and… well… it just wasn’t the sort of thing I would have ever felt comfortable asking Mother about. She spoke to Bethany about it once or twice when Bethany asked but I have no idea how much of what she told her Bethany shared with me. I know she was supposed to marry someone else when she ran off with Father.” She paused to shrug. “But I can tell you that they loved each other with everything they had in them. I never saw her so crushed as she was when he died and she never was the same after. When Bethany died it was like another nail in her heart.”

Fenris was beginning to see why Hawke was so willing to put her own health and well being on the line for someone she cared about, even Isabella. She grew up watching her mother adapt herself to an environment to which she surely was unprepared for the love of a man. A wanted one at that as an apostate mage. And from what little Hawke had told him of her father, he went to great lengths to protect his family. Looking at her when she sighed, he noticed not for the first time that she had a haunted feel to her whenever her mother came up. That just brought the old ache deep in his own soul back into the light, the one that reminded him of just what Danarius had stolen from him and what he hoped somehow to reclaim.

“Eventually the year was up and by this time I had decided I didn’t care what I had to do, I was getting us out of Lowtown. I lived in fear every time Mother went out the door. That is actually how we met Varric. His brother had an expedition he was trying to put together to the Deep Roads and I was trying to convince him to let us in on it. Bartrand was a bastard though, wouldn’t even talk to us. Varric, being the ‘keep a finger on the pulse of everything going on’ type had heard about us through the grapevine and for some reason decided to help us. His plan was for us to buy our way in as partners and he found us work to get the money. Some of that was… less than amusing.”

“But it worked didn’t it?”

Hawke’s head swiveled to the dwarf who as usual had a light enough foot that she hadn’t heard him coming.

“You could say that, yes,” Hawke cocked an eyebrow at him. “Damn near got our asses killed a few times.”

“Eh,” Varric waved a dismissive hand at her. “What’s a week without at least one bout of pure panic? Reminds you that your heart is still beating.”

“Oh yes, right out of your chest!” Hawke fired back.

“Pfft, details!” Varric threw her a roguish grin. “Never plague me with details!”

“Now,” Fenris remarked flatly, “I understand why your stories never quite resemble reality.”

“Maybe so elf, maybe so,” Varric leaned against the crates they sat on. “But I have the truth of it all right here,” he paused to tap his temple and wink. “I know all sorts of truths.”

Hawke snorted rudely but Fenris got the distinct impression the dwarf was trying to say something without actually saying it. Before he had a chance to counter that, Hawke sighed. “You know the Tal-Vashoth have been locked in a room since about this time yesterday. We should give them a chance to stretch those long legs of theirs.”

Varric cocked an eyebrow, knowing that Isabella wouldn’t be best pleased with them running loose but she couldn’t expect them to keep them locked up the whole of this pleasure cruise.

“You know,” he mused, “The easiest way to improve her common tongue would be to teach her to read it like you are Fenris. Two birds, one stone.”

Hawke and Fenris both looked at him a moment.

“Huh,” Hawke thought about that a moment before looking at Fenris. “Have to find something else to read from, but he’s right.”

Fenris sighed.

* * *

Isabella stared off into the corner of her quarters, fingers thrumming a random rhythm on the top of the wooden table in front of her. The drink in front of her was completely forgotten and more than a few people would probably be surprised that it was nothing but water. Her thoughts were uncharacteristically deep as she contemplated a life that had gotten her here, to this place where she had found a semblance of happiness. Innocence was something that she had never been able to afford and she envied people their chance to have it in their lives. Her own had been doomed even before her birth and a continuing litany of abuses had created a woman with a thick skin and formidably fortified battlements about her heart. Most people, even those she liked and called friend never came close to breaching those defenses. Hawke was an exception, one of the few people out there that could easily cut her to the quick with as little as a word or look. That she rarely did made no difference, the fact that she had jammed herself under her skin like a splinter that Isabella found herself unable to bring herself to remove was enough. Sighing she looked at the tankard in front of her.

She had decided hours ago that she would in the end do what Marian Hawke wanted and not to save the world. No she was going to do it because her friend needed her to and when it came down to it, for all the bluster and bristle that Isabella put up between her and the world that friendship had come to mean more to her than she would ever be willing to admit to anyone, even herself. Suddenly angry, Isabella upended the tankard of water on the floor and reached for a cabinet, foregoing rum this time she went for the whiskey instead. It was then that a polite knock made her pause, looking at the door like it was something that had crawled out of a hole and she wasn’t sure if she should lop its head off or stare in abject fascination. When it was repeated, she sighed.

“Yes?”

It was her first mate, a man that had proven himself worth his weight in gold on more than one occasion. She could see he full well understood her mood at a glance and standing straighter announced that Hawke wanted something, preferably not titillating to teach the Tal-Vashoth to read. Blinking a few times at that, Isabella marched to a locked cabinet, pulling a key from the top of her boot as she went. Glancing at the books that were locked inside, she pulled one and tossed it to her mate.

“There,” she grumbled. “See what the mighty Hawke makes of that!”

Looking at the cover after he closed the door, the illiterate man wondered just what that had meant. Deciding it was none of his business, he made his way to the deck. Handing the book to Isabella’s friend, before he had a chance to take his leave she looked from the book to him and then back to the book and her look made him pause.

“You got this from Isabella?”

Nodding at her perplexed look, he came to the decision he didn’t want to know and left. Some things were safer left without poking.

“Why?” Varric looked up at Hawke’s now consternated look. When she just held the book out to him he read the fancy leather cover. “History of the Chantry?” he blinked once, then twice before burst into a hilarity that before long had him sitting on the deck wiping tears from his eyes. Even Hawke had to join in after a moment and when Fenris returned with the two Kossith in tow all three just stood eyeing the two, completely confused.

“You think Isabella is trying to make a statement?” Varric finally gasped.

“I don’t know but she did whether she intended to or not,” Hawke smirked, “Several in fact.”

* * *

Hawke eyed Isabella as she strode up to her. When her mate had come to her room to inform her that Isabella was asking for her, Hawke hadn’t been sure what to make of that. It has been three days and Isabella had made herself completely scarce, not coming out of her captain’s quarters. Varric had braved the waters a few times but always came back perplexed and without an answer. Hawke could tell she’d been drinking not from her walk or demeanor – Isabella held her liquor way better than that. Instead she had a flush to her that spoke of alcohol consumption. When Isabella stopped in front of her, looking at her down her nose with the haughtiest expression she could ever remember seeing she began to think the worst.

“Go get your pet Kossith. If we are going to do this it will be tonight during the new moon. I want as little light out here as possible so that maybe, if we are _extremely_ lucky, they won’t notice us at all.”

Hawke nodded, turning to go do as she was told. Pausing she looked back at her friend thoughtfully a moment before murmuring, “I’m sorry Isabella.”

Isabella considered that a moment before nodding.

“So am I.”


	26. Chapter 26

The sea had just a bit of an attitude but that was how Isabella liked her, a rolling deck made sure you knew you were alive. Standing leaned against the rail of the forecastle, she had already managed to slip past several Qunari supply vessels without notice but now came the interesting part. Somewhere ahead of them in the dark was a string of small islands, all held by the Qun and all according to her charts, rimmed with reefs. Somehow she needed to find that zone that kept her out of the main shipping lanes, away from the reef and still close enough to see what was going on. Sighing, she looked at the two men she had positioned as watch on the forecastles and nodded sharply before returning to the poop deck where her first was manning the wheel. Nodding to him because she knew well that he knew what he was doing, she turned her eye to the horizon. The silence on the ship was profound; every single soul understanding that one wrong move, one errant cough could well be the end of them. Behind her Hawke watched tense, she didn’t like it when her fate was completely out of her control and never had, even when it was in the hands of someone as trusted as Isabella. Varric and Fenris on the other hand were watching everything with frank curiosity and the Tal-Vashoth’s thoughts were their own, not showing on their faces.

It wasn’t long before the rolling of the Siren’s Call II found the first island, nothing more than a spit of land with grass and nothing else. Using that, the mate angled helm for the next island. Isabella and he had spent the last few days memorizing the charts and he knew his way through as well as he was likely, so long as the charts were accurate. ‘Maker, let them be accurate,’ Isabella prayed. Soon the larger islands started rising from the horizon, these with lights. Slipping silent along the waves, the Siren’s Call II moved further away, out of the lights cast along the shores of the camps for that was what they were. Temporary and transitory, the Qunari moving around were housed in tents and small wooden structures among the high grass that grew along the coast. Small docks and piers sheltered small ships, obviously fishing vessels. Turning a hard look at the Tal-Vashoth, Isabella cursed under her breath and went back to scanning the horizon ahead with her spy-glass.

Hawke glanced at the female Kossith, noticing for the first time that there were tense lines along her mouth, giving away the woman’s fear. Slipping next to her Hawke whispering, “You’re sure?” Her only response was a sharp nod, and Hawke was inclined to believe her.

The next island was big, sizeable among this chain and the light was substantial. Here was an entire colony, built of native woods and imported stone, this one implied permanence. The reef here cleared the water at low tide and created a natural water break and harbor. They could see not only fishing vessels, but also vessels of a more martial nature. Still, nothing of any substance and as they passed unnoticed into the dark Hawke began to worry that just maybe she was going to be forced to buy Isabella a case of Antivan rum regardless of what this Tal-Vashoth woman believed.

Suddenly the first mate froze, eyebrows drawn and mouth bowed. Leaning over the wheel to get a better look, he grunted to get Isabella’s attention. About the same time one of the men she’d left along the forecastle to keep an eye out for reef came running across the deck, his own spy-glass in hand and a wide-eyed look. Before he could say anything Isabella had turned her glass out over the dark and saw what they had. Lights, distant but still lights. And not where the charts said there should be an island. Instead they were dead in the center of what they had said was the shipping lane. And their vague illumination was outlining something…. Suddenly Isabella stood straight up and Hawke could have sworn that every hair on her stood straight out. Shoving her first mate out of the way she took the wheel and pulled the Siren’s Call II hard to the port to avoid what she had seen. Hissing Hawke’s name, Isabella tossed her spy-glass at her as she waved her men to silence. Catching the glass and putting it to one eye it took a moment for Hawke to make it out, but that was only because she wasn’t prepared for the scale of what she saw. It was a ship, a ship so massive that it could have easily fit the whole of the Siren’s Call in its hold several times over. The forecastle was at least half the length of Isabella’s ship wide and held not one but two rows of windows, indicating that it was at least two stories high and close as Hawke could count in the dark there were at least three masts planted firmly on it. Dropping the glass from her eye she looked hard at Isabella, who was whispering orders to one of her men while staring hard at the dark and light bulk of the monster in front of her. A light touch on her shoulder reminded her that Fenris and Varric still could only vaguely see and she handed Fenris the glass without taking her eyes off her friend. When Isabella finally turned to look at her the grim and slightly round –eyed look she had told Hawke all she needed to know.

As they drew closer they could see that the hulking ship was at anchor, three were dropped from her bow and behind her other ships were at anchor, these maybe half the size but still twice the length of Isabella’s ship. These were more familiar, though still far larger than anyone aboard the Siren’s Call II had ever seen. These were Qunari warships, cannon turrets lining the deck and sides of them. Squinting into the dark Hawke was pretty sure that she counted three of them. Turning a look at the Kossith woman, she was surprised to see for the first time a frank emotion on her face-terror. The male simply stood watching as Isabella’s crew scrambled to do as they were told.

It wasn’t long before they were abreast of it and could make out details. There were nine masts total, three on the forecastle, three on the main deck and three smaller ones on an even more massive poop deck. Near as Hawke could tell the aftcastle was as wide as Isabella’s total length and four stories high above the massive main deck and _that_ was so high over their heads that only the crows nest cleared it. There was at least one row of windows along the sides below deck hinting at even more quarters and those were thankfully dark. This ship wasn’t for fighting; this behemoth was for after the fighting was finished. This was for transporting people, administrators and their staffs and this was the true invading force behind the Qunari. A few tense minutes later they had cleared it, sailing so close that it almost felt like you could reach out and touch the side. Hawke turned to look at Varric who was craning his neck to look up at what would be a mighty impressive and frankly intimidating sight to see off the coast of any city. The look he returned was inscrutable, but she knew he was thinking the same thing as she was.

Isabella was now concentrating on the real threats - the three ships off the stern of the big one. She knew that there would be men posted as night watch on all three and somehow she would have to get past them all without being seen. She also knew that her chances were just about zero. Firing off a quick prayer she decided that her only chance here was to outrun them. They were at anchor and by the time they could get those up and their sails hoisted in a perfect would she would be able to get herself out of range of those blasted cannons. Right now she only had her foremast hoisted along with the two latten sails along her stern, but at her signal her men could have the mainsail and the bowsprit sail up and then in her experience anyway, nothing could catch her. Thinking back to the fate of the original Siren’s Call, Isabella swallowed hard and prayed her faith was well founded. With almost agonizing slowness they crept past one, a full ships-length off the port without notice, but as they approached the second, their luck ran out.

Isabella heard the alarm being sounded and didn’t need to understand Qunari to know she’d been spotted. Nodding to her first mate, she only vaguely heard him when he bolted from the poop deck barking orders to hoist the sails, instead she was watching as the Qunari who had made her out in the dark ran to a bell to add its call to his. Though it took only minutes to get the sails up it seemed like an eternity and the second she felt the bite of wind in the sails she pointed her bow to where she knew she would eventually find open water and hopefully no more surprises. As she took a course straight between the last two ships more Qunari poured onto the decks and she knew time was running out. By the time the fastest of the Qunari were able to give chase she was several of their ship lengths ahead and knew she was well out of cannon range. Praying that she could hold her lead, knowing full well that Qunari ships were big but still fast and every bit as maneuverable as her own, she ignored everything as she tried to remember those charts.

Hawke stood watching the Qunari ships as they each turned to follow, hands clenched around the railing until her knuckles were white with the effort. Fenris stood behind her, gracefully ignoring the rolling of the ship and feeling completely helpless. In this situation he was useless and he well knew it. He heard Isabella begin barking orders to her men, completely forgoing quiet now that they had been seen and tried his best to have the same faith in the woman that Hawke did. Off to the side, both Tal-Vashoth were standing together, his arm wrapped around her to steady her as they too stared off the bow at the pursuing ships. Neither needed a translator to understand that this situation could get bad fast. Varric had disappeared off the poop deck entirely.

It wasn’t long before it became apparent that one ship was going to be a problem. They far outstripped the other two, leaving them in their wake and were slowly gaining on Isabella’s caravel. Isabella was completely ignoring what was off her stern in favor of making sure that she didn’t end up running aground on some spit of land that the charts hadn’t seen fit to mention, but soon was clear of the worst of the small islands and in open water. There was she knew one more large island to pass before she was completely clear and able to turn her sails to the strongest winds and make a mad dash for Tevinter waters where she hoped this lone ship wouldn’t follow. When a distant boom echoed across the water she clenched her teeth and shot a look over her shoulder. She never saw the cannonball that splashed down behind them in the dark, but if they were firing test rounds then they were just entirely too close for her liking. Cursing as creatively as she possibly could at the top of her lungs and barking orders like command was something she’d been born to, inside she cringed and urged her ship faster. When a second controlled explosion echoed, she ignored it in the mad hope that this would change the situation.

“Isabella!” Hawke shouted over her constant carnage of the common tongue.

“I know!” Isabella fired back.

“That was way too close!”

“I said,” Isabella shot a heated look over her shoulder at her friend. “I know!”

“Marian!” Fenris wrapped an arm round her shoulders and pulled her back against him so that he could murmur in her ear, “She’s doing the best she can.”

“I know it,” Hawke fired back, feeling helpless.  When she heard another shot fired she pulled away from Fenris to once again clutch at the rail and stare into the darkness. This time the projectile landed barely a within a stone’s throw of the stern of the ship and she knew that she had to do something, she could not let this happen. Before even the sharp electric smell of magic registered, Fenris felt his lyrium start answering the call of the magic that Hawke was gathering to herself and turning he could see that she had her head bowed as she concentrated on flexing muscles she had long left unused and ignored everything else. Deep inside him he wanted nothing more than to step away but he knew the rolling of the ship would throw her and break her concentration so instead he stepped up behind her. Laying both hands on the rail and pressing himself to her to sandwich her between himself and the rail to hold her steady he desperately ignored both instinct and the burning of his own tattoos as they flared dully in the dark. Finally with a final flick of her arms she fired off the spell and Fenris felt the magic fly away from her. The fireball landed squarely in one of the five square sails and it immediately began to blaze. Without pause Hawke began gathering from the Fade again, and the static smell grew stronger around her. Gritting his teeth when he heard the Tal-Vashoth male grate out a surprised, “Saarebas,” Fenris hoped the two would keep to their side of the poop deck and not force him to let loose of her.

Again and again, fireball after fireball fired from Hawke until most of the sails and a decent portion of the deck were ablaze. Qunari scattered about the deck trying to put the flames out before the gaatlok that powered their cannons caught but the burning sails put a dent in their speed as they did. Soon they were nothing but a bright speck as her sister ships came to their aid. Hawke stood straight staring out at the ship as it fell behind and anyone seeing her would not suspect that Fenris could feel her tremble. The male Tal-Vashoth, having pushed the female behind him chose this moment to advance, pointing an accusing finger at Hawke and once again snarling, “Saarebas!”

Hawke jerked free off Fenris with more strength than even he would have given her credit and before he could react was after the warrior that fast. Stopping just in front of him she stuck her nose straight up to his and snarled, “Yes, Saarebas! Also Basalit-an, so declared by _your_ Arishok right before we dueled and he _died_!” She could tell that he understood enough when his violet eyes widened but his menacing expression never changed. “Go on, _test_ me!”

Fenris grabbed her arm, pulling her away as the female Tal-Vashoth stepped between them, laying both hands on the man’s cheeks to make him look at her. As she soothed him, Fenris felt Hawke sag and catching her before she went to the deck he managed to lower her gently. Eyes closed against the suddenly dancing scene before her, Hawke clenched her teeth until the dizziness passed. Slowly opening them she found herself sitting in Fenris’s lap. Smiling wanly at the concerned creases in his brow, she quipped lightly, “I think I might have overdone it.”

Fenris snorted but didn’t say anything as she laid her head on his shoulder.

“Hawke,” Isabella shouted boisterously from the wheel, “You are one crazy bitch! I _knew_ there was a reason I liked you!”

Chuckling but unwilling to move, Hawke waved weakly at her friend. Sighing now that it was over and eyeing the Tal-Vashoth standing on the other side of the poop deck, Fenris laid his cheek on top of her head and breathing in her scent, tried to calm his jangled nerves. He was unsure exactly what had twanged them worse, the chase or Hawke’s reaction to it or the Tal-Vashoth’s reaction to her. What he did know was that once this insanity was over, they were going to have to have a talk.

Now that Isabella was under full sail she was unwilling to go back to trying to move stealthily through the Qunari waters, even as she approached the final of the smaller islands off the western coast of Seheron. Daylight was fast approaching and after that chase she wanted to be well out of Qunari waters when light touched the first wave. Instead choosing to put a little distance between herself and the port that she knew was there, she handed the wheel back to her first and snatched her spy-glass from Fenris’s belt where he had tucked it earlier. After scanning the scene as they approached she reached down to tap the back of her hand against the back of Hawke’s head without putting down the glass. When both Hawke and Fenris looked up at her she waved them up.

“Hawke…”

Her tone stifled Hawke’s sigh and scrambling up she stared at what she could see, even without the benefit of the spy-glass. At anchor off the port were more dreadnaughts just like the one Hawke had just done her best to sink – a lot more. Hawke counted at least twenty, along with larger ships that looked to be some kind of transports and dozens more of a smaller vessel that much like the dreadnaughts were obviously of a martial nature because of the cannons placed along the decks. Isabella gazed at Hawke as she took it in and then shot a hard look at the Tal-Vashoth. They were both standing silent, staring at the impressive array like everyone else.

“Looks like your pet was right.”

“Maker have mercy on us all.”

* * *

“The Basra view magic differently,” she reminded him, looking over her shoulder to where the woman Hawke stood discussing what they had found with her companions, “You know that. So she is Saarebas? What difference does it make?”

“She is _dangerous_!” He still prickled with the shock. “That she _hides_ her powers is proof of that! Even among their people mages are not allowed….”

“ _Were_ not allowed,” she corrected sharply. “Remember this is why the armada exists?”

That pulled him up short and he considered her thoughtfully.

“Dangerous she may be, we don’t know enough of her to correctly make that call,” she forged ahead determinedly. “But she is _not_ dangerous to us, _not_ _now_. She knows that what we told her is true and has _no_ _reason_ to doubt us further. She needs us if she wishes to save her people. Are we not Tal-Vashoth?”

He nodded sharply.

“Then we too are dangerous.”

Looking around her he regarded the elf at her side, the one with the oddly magical markings that stood at her side with a possessive hand held to the small of her back. ‘She keeps dangerous things in her influence,’ he thought, ‘Dangerous things that are also Tal-Vashoth even if they don’t admit it.’ Deciding that perhaps she was right even though it went against the grain of everything he knew, he nodded wordlessly.

Sighing, thankful that he was willing to see sense, she allowed herself to relax for the first time since the elf had come to get them. Now that the truth of her words had been witnessed now maybe they could get to the hard part of this adventure – convincing Thedas the danger was real.

* * *

It had been decided that they would sleep on what they had seen before deciding what they would do next though Hawke herself knew exactly where they were headed next even if the rest of them didn’t. She already had planned out several moves ahead and Maker willing, there would be no snags along the way. Since the Maker had never seen fit to smile on her before she had her doubts that it would be so simple, but there was no harm in hope. She groaned as she collapsed into one of the chairs in the cabin that she was sharing with Fenris. He looked at her closely, noticing that the weary lines on her face had deepened. Sighing, he crouched next to her. Looking down at him she did her best to smile but knew that she’d only succeeded in worrying him more when the frown lines in his forehead appeared.

“Hawke…” he trailed off, not entirely sure how to ask what he wanted to know. When her eyebrows drew together, he decided directly was his best option. Taking one of her hands in both of his, he looked up at her, meeting her gaze before asking, “Why?”

Hawke sighed.

“Because I could not allow that to happen when I had even a chance of preventing it. You said it yourself, this ship is dear to her and I could not let her lose another to the Qunari.” She paused before chuckling dryly. “And Varric would have drowned. He can’t swim.”

She wasn’t saying it all, this he knew and this time he wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

“And you gave no thought to yourself? What would happen should the Qunari capture you alive?”

Hawke sighed.

“Fenris, I have lived my whole life with the threat of discovery. In Kirkwall alone it was an offense that not only could get you made Tranquil, it could also get your kin hung.” She paused, struggling to put it in words that he would understand. “I stopped worrying about what might happen to me if I were caught a long time ago. Once Mother was gone and Carver out of the influence of my apostate status? I decided I couldn’t live in fear anymore. It doesn’t matter if I’m caught, not to me. What the Qun dictates must be done to mages isn’t all that much worse than what Andraste decided was to be done. Either way? They will have to kill me because _I_ _will_ _not_ _bow_.”

Fenris considered this a moment. He knew her bravado was well placed but that it was never that simple. He _had_ bowed and worried even now that he might again.

“I didn’t do what I did because I was afraid for myself. I did what I did because I was afraid for everyone else, even that obstinate bully of a Tal-Vashoth. I could not stand idly by and watch what was about to happen when I could at least _try_ to prevent it.” 

She fell silent, watching as he stared at her hand in his and carefully considered what she had said for a long time. She didn’t move, didn’t interrupt because she knew this was important to him, important that he understand her motives behind tossing a vow she had made and faithfully kept for a decade to the winds. She was starting to worry about what was going through his head when he finally looked up and studying her a few moments more, he nodded. This was something he could accept, knowing her as he did.

It wasn’t until later, when he was curled around her asleep, arms holding her tightly against him that she let herself admit even to herself that not a small part of her panic had been what the Qunari would do with him. He was no mage but his lyrium gave him a connection to the Fade that she could feel. At first she hadn’t noticed but the more she was around him the more she perceived it. When he flared he was pulling from the Fade as sure as she was, but his markings gave very specific instructions. What would the Qunari make _of_ _him_? And what would they do _with_ him? So very much had been done to him already, the thought of what they might make him had helped drive her to break a vow that had become integral to everything she was.


	27. Chapter 27

Isabella eyed the Tal-Vashoth as they entered her cabin behind Hawke, not quite trusting them even if Hawke seemed to. The female sat gracefully across from Isabella at the table, well aware that of the Ravaini woman’s unease. The male took up a not so subtle stance behind her, arms crossed and looking at the assembled from under heavy brows made heavier by the scowl he carried. Varric sat to her left, Hawke to her right. Fenris declined to sit, instead taking a corner so he could watch the Tal-Vashoth male, knowing that the warrior didn’t need a weapon to seed chaos in his unease. Sitting to Isabella’s right was her first mate.

“First off,” Isabella kept her tone even as she looked at the female Tal-Vashoth, “I refuse to sit here and call you ‘her’ or ‘Tal-Vashoth’ or whatever. You want to escape the Qun? Fine. You want to use my ship to do it? Fine. But if you want to make your way in our lands? You need a name. Pick something.”

The woman looked at her a moment, blinking several times. It had never occurred to her.

“Him too,” Isabella waved a hand at the male whose mouth curled up in a little sneer.

Hawke shook her head. Only Isabella would worry about how to address their guests when the veracity of her claims were still fresh in all their heads and there was so much to discuss. When the female looked back at the male but he just grunted to indicate it made no never mind to him what they called him. Looking back at Isabella she ordered her thoughts carefully.

“He is… was… Ben-Hassrath. This… is how he was… known?” She looked at Hawke questioningly and was pleased when she nodded that she had done well. “Make simpler? Hassrath?” She looked back at the male who nodded slightly that this was agreeable. “Myself? I do… not wish to be known… same? I will be…” she paused a moment to consider it before announcing, “Maraas.” She ignored the grunt she heard from behind her.

“Okay then,” Isabella looked at the male a moment, ignoring the man’s attempts to be intimidating and smiled as fetchingly as she knew how at the two of them. “Maraas, Hassrath? We haven’t been _properly_ introduced! I am Isabella, the captain of the Siren’s Call II. This is my first mate Klaton. The rest of these folks I am sure you know by name by now. Welcome to my ship and please know that regardless of what Hawke there thinks? _I_ am the captain and if you give me half a reason and I _will_ have you dropped off in the ocean to sink or swim as you see fit.”

Maraas’s eyebrow cocked up as she took in the dusky skinned woman’s words and finding the mental image of this being attempted against her guard amusing she let her mouth curl up just the slightest bit as she nodded slowly. She suspected that this woman’s crew would have less trouble subduing anyone else on the ship with the possible exception of the elf. She was still unclear on _his_ abilities and was a bit unsettled with the idea of finding out exactly what he was capable considering the reports that had come across her desk that undoubtedly concerned him.

“We understand each other?” Isabella looked from one to the other, ignoring the sneer on his face as fast as she ignored the slightly amused one on hers. “Good. Because on this one? I will not repeat myself.”

“Isabella….” Varric shook his head. “They aren’t about to start trouble now are they?”

“He sure looked like he wanted to start some last night now didn’t he?”

Hassrath’s looked darkened perceptibly but he refused to be baited.

“He was surprised Isabella,” Hawke interceded diplomatically, now understanding Isabella’s motives in asserting her own authority. “He had no idea I was a mage and we all know how the Qunari view mages, apparently even the Tal-Vashoth.” She paused to look up at him mildly. “Something else he will have to learn to temper some in our lands I think.”

Maraas looked at Hawke quizzically. “You do not think….” Sighing because she couldn’t think of the words she looked at Fenris. “She doesn’t think the Chantry will be able to reestablish the Circle of Magi?”

“No,” Hawke replied when he translated. “I do not. At least not in the same fashion they were before. I have no doubt that some compromise will eventually be made but who knows when and who knows at what price.”

Maraas considered that a moment then nodded. She had suspected as much.

“As fascinating as this discussion is,” Varric interrupted, “We need to figure out what we are going to do from here.”

“Oh I suspect Hawke already knows what she wants to do,” Isabella picked up her tankard and waved it in Hawke’s general direction without taking her eye off the dwarf. “She always was thinking ahead, least once she became Champion.”

 “Actually,” Hawke sighed at the light sarcasm from her friend. “I want to go back to Kirkwall. If we can get them behind us then we should be able to convince at least some of the other city-states of the Free Marches as well.”

“And if Carver decides to be as petulant as ever?” Isabella took a sip, eyeing Hawke over the rim to see if the barb bit.

“Well,” Hawke ignored her and shrugged. “I am still the Viscount.”

Varric sat forward in his chair suddenly, eyes rounded as Isabella chuckled.

“You would do that?”

“I won’t have a choice,” Hawke sighed. “And I think we should make a stop in Antiva first.”

Maraas suddenly waved both hands in confusion. They were going far too fast.

“Viscount?” she blinked several times at Hawke before pointing a finger to her. “Viscount… ruler, correct? You are… ruler?”

Hawke sighed and patted the Kossith woman’s hand.

“It’s a long story.”

“That’s a fact,” Varric chuckled.

“Why Antiva?” Isabella asked.

Ignoring the conversation that mostly was going over her head, Maraas turned to look at Hassrath. He studied the back of Hawke’s head thoughtfully before meeting her gaze and cocking an eyebrow at her. Fenris silently noted the exchange but didn’t move. Suddenly Isabella stood, so violently that her chair tipped over and brought all their attention back to what was being discussed.

“I will not!” Isabella leaned over the table to point at Hawke. “I ran ass over teakettle right through Qunari waters and you know how much I dislike the entire thought of attracting their attention, all because you needed me to! But I refuse to go to Antiva to try and charm Castillon for you! Forget it!”

“Isabella…”

“No!”

* * *

“Well,” Fenris remarked casually as they left Isabella’s cabin sometime later with the two Tal-Vashoth in tow. “That certainly went well.”

“I knew it wouldn’t,” Hawke chuckled. “Isabella came out of that whole part of her life with a very healthy fear of both Qunari _and_ Castillon. She might have bested him but that doesn’t mean she has any great desire to go poking at that dragon with even a long stick.”

“Who,” Maraas asked quietly, “Is Castillon?”

Hawke looked up at her a moment thoughtfully, wondering not for the first time what her stake in this was.

“Castillon is an Antivan merchant. At least on the surface anyway. He keeps the fingers of this hand in legitimate dealings and the fingers on the other in not so legitimate ones.” Pausing while Maraas nodded that she understood, she glanced at Fenris thoughtfully. “Isabella worked for him back in the dusty dawn of her life as captain of her own ship. Did some legal and not so legal things for him. Well during the Blight in Ferelden he was running a wonderful scam on refugees. His ships were taking their money to get them out of Ferelden and he was shipping them to Tevinter into slavery. Isabella realized this when she ended up escorting one of these ships and she decided she didn’t much care for the thought.”

“So she has a conscience?” Fenris chuckled dryly. “Who would have thought?”

“Well,” Hawke looked at him hard for a second before continuing, “She turned them all loose in the Free Marches and Castillon took a dim view of that. Until then she hadn’t been anything but one of many to him. Costing him… oh just lots of sovereign put her square in his sights and he had her drug back to Antiva by the scruff of her neck. He gave her a job to redeem herself that I really do think he thought she wouldn’t be able to pull off, but to everyone’s surprise she actually managed it.”

“This would be the Tomb of Koslun?” Fenris asked quietly.

Hawke nodded as both Tal-Vashoth froze in their tracks.

“Tomb of Koslun?” Maraas cocked her head.

“Castillon had her steal it from the Orlesians, who were giving it back to the Qunari. And that led to a whole set of wonderful circumstances that led to her and Qunari being in Kirkwall and me getting mixed up in the whole mess.” Hawke sighed. “Look this is a long story and not one that Isabella would care for me to be bandying about. And it’s not really the point here anyway. The point is that Castillon is not a man to be trifled with and yet Isabella succeeded in doing just that before it was over. She tricked him into giving her his best ship,” she paused to wave her hand about, “And she got him to promise to never darken her doorstep again and because he is at heart something of a gentleman he hasn’t. Frankly? She got lucky and she knows it. She’s not going to be interested in strolling right back in his sights again.”

“Then,” Maraas’s eyebrows drew together, confused, “How?”

“Am I going to talk her into it? I have no idea.” Hawke chuckled. “But it’s a long trip to Antiva. I have plenty of time to figure it out.”

* * *

Varric wandered seemingly aimlessly across the deck with in reality he had a destination in mind – the forecastle. There the first mate, Klaton was standing first watch and Varric, who had never given Isabella’s crew much thought before, had decided that perhaps it was time to get to know this man. Klaton saw the dwarf coming and wondered idly what he was about.

The tall dark Orlesian had spent the greatest part of his watch thinking about the things he’d seen and heard at this meeting he’d been made to attend. That in of itself was a bit more than unusual. Isabella generally didn’t share what was going on except when it was absolutely necessary. Sometimes Klaton suspected that was because she felt that as the only one with all the details it made her more important and him in particular less likely to revolt. He was the only one who had chosen to stay when she had taken the ship from Castillon and though he knew she valued him as her first he also knew that deep down she still to this day did not entirely trust him. She had very little worry on that regard even if she didn’t seem to realize it. Klaton was frankly happy with his role on the ship and viewed Isabella as a capable leader for all that she was a woman and the men were happy with her leadership and loyal to her even in those occasions when her wits didn’t pan out with a booty worth the trouble it took to secure it. He suspected that his presence had been requested because everyone else in the room seemed to come equipped with some sort of second and Isabella felt the need to have hers present.

“Just the man I was looking for,” Varric enthused happily as he finally strolled up, a wineskin from the galley in one hand, another thrown over his shoulder. “I was hoping to have a chat with you.”

Klaton simply looked down at the dwarf a moment, considering this direct verbal approach when he had taken the time to look as though he had nothing more on his mind than a stroll on the deck. Klaton knew this man didn’t much care for the sea and whenever possible spent as much time below decks as possible. Looking over the length of the darkened decks he suspected that it had to do with the men that were still gathered in small groups entertaining themselves while not required before bedding down for the night. Deciding to hear the small man out, Klaton leaned back against the rail and accepted the proffered wineskin.

“And why would that be?” he drawled, his voice still accented with Orlesian even after almost twenty years away from her shores. “Let me guess, you wish my aid in convincing Isabella that your Hawke isn’t completely insane?”

“No,” Varric chuckled dryly. “The fact is Hawke _is_ a little crazy, but she’s crazy like a fox and I discovered a long time ago that whatever insanity she has going on inside her head generally pans out in the end. It’s one of the reasons I’m still around and definitely one of the reasons I still love her.”

Klaton nodded, recognizing the woman he was describing even if the woman he was considering was not the same one that Varric was. He suspected that ‘a little crazy’ was the only way for women to distinguish themselves in a world mostly ruled by men. That and a lot bitchy when the occasion called for it.

“No I actually was wanting to get your thoughts on what we saw the other night,” Varric watched idly as Klaton took a pull from the skin he’d given him. “I’m no sailor, certainly not anyone who could do more than recognize that those cannons were bad.”

Klaton grunted, and looked over his shoulder at the dark. Clouds were obscuring the stars tonight making the sea a deep and ominous thing where just anything could be hiding. Or could be hidden.

“That fleet itself was impressive and I suspect that there is more that we did not see,” he looked back to the dwarf, returning the frank expression that the dwarf had. “They would not put them all together so that should their plan be discovered before they were ready the enemy would know their true numbers. I think we can safely double what we saw, maybe more.”

Varric nodded. He had suspected as much but hearing it made it somehow more real.

“Because of your Hawke I think we can assume that the Qun will think the culprits were Tevinter since we were not running a flag. And since Tevinter undoubtedly suspects something and the Qun would know that, I don’t think that this will cause the Qunari any real concern. Thedas has a history of ignoring Tevinter’s calls for help and both the Tevinters and the Qun know it.”

Varric nodded and pulled the wineskin from his shoulder and uncapping it, took a long pull while he considered the first’s thoughts.

“Well,” he sighed, “There is hope for that anyway. But if they have that many already built, how much longer can we expect them to stay put? We caught on to this way too late in the game and now we are going to be spending all our time trying to play catch up.” He paused to study the man Isabella trusted with her ship before deciding to have at least that much faith in this man based on her own. “Unlike Hawke, I’m not so sure there is time enough to save Tevinter. I think we might have to consider that a lost cause.”

“Good,” Klaton snorted harshly. “Never cared much for their high and mighty, ‘piss me off and I’ll light your crotch on fire’ attitude, even when I had no choice but to deal with them cordially for Castillon.”

Varric tucked that little bit of information away for future reference and chuckled roguishly before taking another pull on this skin.

“You should see how Hawke deals with them.”

* * *

Fenris stood hidden in the shadows cast along the deck watching Varric and Klaton talk. That their discussion had started seriously he had no doubt from what little even he could hear. Now it was something more akin to two people cordially relating humorous experiences as they drank from the wineskins. Varric was trying to forge a friendly relationship with this man and Fenris suspected it was because he was sure to play a part in whatever was coming their way. Fenris himself was simply happy to know the man knew what he was about. That he had sat quietly during the meeting, only speaking up when addressed and taking in everything he was hearing told Fenris this man was sharper than he might seem at first glance. But then he would have to be to keep order aboard a privateer’s ship. Even if the men themselves didn’t seem to necessarily fear Isabella, they certainly had respect for her and this man and ran to do whatever they were bid.

Thinking over the meeting he stopped to consider the Kossith woman’s choice of names. Maraas had two meanings in the Qunari tongue and considering the reaction her choice had drawn from the male, he wondered if she was making a statement. The question became was it ‘nothing,’ or was it ‘alone,’ and to whom was the statement aimed?

Sighing as he leaned against a crate and crossed his arms unconsciously, his own thoughts turned inward and began worrying at a dozen things both large and small like a teething puppy.

* * *

Lying curled on a bed that was at best uncomfortable and feeling the roll of the ship as it plowed through less than placid waters, Maraas ignored the enthusiastic snoring from the other side of the small cabin and considered what she had learned. This couldn’t have worked out better. That Hawke was used to command had been apparent from the first, to find out that she was a ruler of…. Sighing and shifting to try and find a more comfortable position she realized that she would have to stop thinking of them as Basra. They were people, no worse or better than herself. Probably better since they had a sense of their place in the great scheme that was their own society. She herself was not only out of place and now hated in her own she was going to have to somehow forge a place for herself in theirs. That Hawke was a ruler of people gave her just the opportunity she had hoped for. Now she just had to find a way to show she was valuable to her.

Blinking when Hassrath’s steady snoring suddenly took on a volume and cadence that caused even him to shift in his sleep before quieting to something almost imperceptible, she considered him. He was she knew her responsibility. She had convinced him that this was the best course, that a life outside the Qun was more life than what they had inside it. Their friendship and loyalty to one another, forged over years had driven him to follow her because deep in his heart he knew that she was no match for the dangers that could be expected in a world without order. He had left with her more out of concern for her than for his own unhappiness and she knew it.

Somehow, someway she was going to have to earn the respect and protection of someone like Hawke, someone of power or their futures were grim indeed.


	28. Chapter 28

Maraas smiled broadly, her yellow eyes so pleased with herself that Hawke just had to smile back. In the month they had been at sea she had caught on to common tongue amazingly fast. Fenris was sometimes hard put to keep up with her even though the both of them were like sponges, soaking everything around them up. Hawke had made a point to find a book on the history of Thedas during one of their stops in the small ports that dotted the coast along the edges of the Arlathan Forest. They both seemed to enjoy this missive so much more than the one Isabella had lent them and both were full of questions that Hawke and Varric were sometimes hard put to answer. Hassrath usually hovered over these impromptu daily lessons on the deck if weather permitted and Hawke suspected he was learning to augment his own common tongue as well. It was hard to tell when he rarely spoke. At first his presence behind them had made Fenris uncomfortable and he was constantly looking over his shoulder, but as time went on the elf seemed to loosen up.

“So Kirkwall was one of the last of Tevinter’s great ancient cities to fall?”

“If,” Fenris chimed in dryly, “That is what you want to call the center of all Imperial slave trade, then yes. It was a ‘great ancient city’ of the Imperium.”

Maraas regarded the elf a moment before nodding that she understood his view. Though she didn’t know his story in its entirety and somehow doubted she ever would, she could see that as a former slave he would not approve of the methods used to bring the “City of Chains” to prominence.

“Yes, she held out far longer than any would have given credit,” Hawke answered lightly, ignoring Fenris’s mild sarcasm concerning her home. “She is a formidable city to try and take even to this day and much of that is thanks to the Tevinter Magisters that built her. She might still be in Tevinter hands if it hadn’t been for the slave rebellion that overthrew the Magisters. What the Free Marches couldn’t accomplish from the outside for all their military might, simple peoples from across Thedas did. Sometimes,” she sighed, “It’s amazing what can be accomplished if people would just put away their differences for a moment.”

Varric chuckled but didn’t comment. Maraas considered what she had said a moment, feeling the irony of how where she came from there were no overt differences. Everyone had the same goal, the glory of the Qun, no matter their assigned role. That these peoples had to overcome ‘differences’ in order to accomplish anything sometimes made her wonder how it was that they had accomplished so very much. When she said as much aloud, Hawke shot her an ironic look.

“It’s one of the prices of freedom. You give someone the opportunity to think for themselves and they will always think in terms of their own experience. And my experience is necessarily different from say Fenris’s, not just because I am Ferelden displaced by a blight to the Free Marches or because I am Champion and Viscount of a major city-state or even because I am a mage, but also because I am a woman as well. We may agree, or even agree to disagree but our views will never be exactly the same.”

Fenris looked at Hawke a moment a little surprised.

“You,” she smirked seeing his look, “Didn’t think I thought about stuff like that did you?”

He didn’t comment, just looked at her thoughtfully.

“The point is that sometimes something comes along that enough people do agree on no matter their experience and they work together to accomplish something important. That might be something as big as rebelling against overlords or something as small as building a house. Doesn’t matter. In the end what makes our society work is that enough people agree to work together towards something better. Sometimes methods differ and you get bruised egos and the occasional war, but in the end something gets accomplished.” Hawke paused to look at Maraas a moment as she took this in. “It’s complicated and chaotic and sometimes bloody, but it works.”

“I do not see how.”

Hawke blinked in surprise when Hassrath spoke, his voice deep and rumbling.

“I don’t know Hassrath, somehow it just does.” She looked up at him, studying his chiseled face a moment. “And this is what we face when we get to Antiva and Kirkwall. We have to convince.”

He snorted and shook his horned head.

“I do not see how. They were not there.”

“But we were. And the people in Kirkwall know that I would not mislead them.”

“Trust?” He eyed her a moment, face inscrutable. “You are basing your pleas on trust?”

“Yes.”

He considered that in silence. Had he not thrown away a life, an unhappy one but still a life on the basis of the same? He nodded but didn’t say anymore. Fenris eyed the larger man standing at their back. It had taken some time but the Kossith had finally relaxed into his new situation though he still seemed to feel that he had to protect Maraas. Cocking his head slightly he looked at Hawke sideways and silently wondered if in the end this Tal-Vashoth was all that much different than himself. Did he not find himself standing off to the side to give him the view it would take to spot trouble first? Did he not catch himself whenever they left the ship at some port constantly scanning the crowd while trying to keep her close? Sighing, he once again did the one thing he knew this warrior would understand without his having to voice it – he turned his back to him.

* * *

Isabella sighed as Antiva City loomed off her bow. She had not been back to the city since she had been forcibly removed from the original Siren’s Call and brought back in chains to face the wrath of Castillon years before. Avoiding the very possibility of contact with the influential merchant, when she did make a rare stop in Antiva she always preferred the ports of Rialto or Bastion. She had always justified the choice by saying that their ports were not so busy and you didn’t have to wait as long to dock and Klaton in particular had never once raised an eyebrow but she knew the man understood her reluctance. Now he stood next to her, silent and grim as a tomb and she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Varric will be going with you when you go in to secure a slip,” she informed him haughtily. “He’s apparently has some contacts here and he’s going to see if Castillon is in the city.”

Klaton nodded without comment. He of course already knew this because Varric himself had told him. Varric had become something of a regular part of Klaton’s watch, whatever part of the night that might be. Klaton always made a point to take several watches a week to make a continuing point to the crew that though he could be harsh, he would never ask them to do anything he wasn’t willing to do himself. The little man was a fount of stories, more than a few involving his Hawke and the captain herself, but Klaton understood that more than a few of them were embellished to the point of disbelief. ‘Entertaining none the less,’ he mused.

“Is there anything else I need to know?”

Isabella sighed.

“If Castillon is in the city it won’t take long for him to find out that ‘his’ ship is in port. I want an armed watch on the ship at all times until we can be quit of this place.”

“You think he might try to take it back?”

“I doubt it,” Isabella mused with forced lightness. “But there is no telling what might go on.” Turning to share a serious expression with what was probably the one man on earth that she felt even remotely comfortable doing so with she continued, “If something should happen I will leave anyone on shore. So I want you to go with Hawke when she leaves the ship and if that happens? I will be waiting in Afsaana.”

“How long,” Klaton nodded, “Will you wait?”

Cocking an eyebrow Isabella reverted to form, reaching up to run a finger along his conscientiously clean shaven jaw before tugging at the edge of the short beard covering his chin.

“As long as it takes. I would be just completely lost without my first.”

Snorting lightly he nodded and turned to go, entirely ignoring the chuckle that followed him.

* * *

Hawke glanced at Maraas, knowing that this would be the first major city she was seeing on Thedas proper. And Antiva was an impressive one, even from her seedy docks. Everything in Antiva City was made of stone, either native granites or imported marbles and jets giving the whole of the city the impression of permanence. The fortified walls that encircled the city were probably the only structure that bowed to practicality. Even from a distance the graceful towers and domes of the often fortified estates of prominent citizens held reign in the sky, drawing the eye up even in the largely narrow and shadowed streets lined with structures more than a few stories high. The largest by far belonged to the elegantly fortified castle that stood atop the largest of the gently sloping hills in the distance, a vague form obscured by the smoke of the city, and home to the current Antivan Queen. And the city was sprawling, larger than most major capitals because estates often had their own ornate and expensive gardens and most public structures had broad and expansive paved courtyards where statues and fountains held court.

The rich merchant classes had been kind to their city, investing sovereign not just into their own properties but also into the public ones to create a jewel that glittered in the sun even as a seedy underbelly with ties to just about every vice thrived under her skirts. Brothels dotted the streets, some famous across the whole of Thedas as much for their sumptuous elegance and courtly ritual as for the dignified men and women that satisfied all sorts of needs, and not always carnal. The warehouses that lined the docks and streets surrounding them contained as much contraband as they did legitimate wares and Hawke suspected that at least a few of the ships at anchor waiting their turn to the docks around them had ties to the smugglers and pirates of the Raiders of the Waking Sea. Antivan royalty wisely looked the other way, knowing that any attempts to right this situation would not only undoubtedly lead to an assassination by the infamous Antivan Crows it would also destroy the Antivan economy.

Maraas stood for a long time, as did Hassrath behind her, each taking it in. They had both been born on Seheron and though it had more than a few cities of size, some even built by the Qunari, none of them had the weight of history behind them that this one did. It hung in the air like the chimney smoke, subtly coloring everything they could see. This city hadn’t been built from a plan; it had grown organically to flower into what it was today. And if allowed it would continue to grow. Maraas finally returned Hawke’s gaze and she could see that the former Qunari was duly impressed by what she was seeing.

“See?” Hawke smiled knowingly. “Sometimes freedom works for all its prices.”

“But,” Hassrath argued in a low tone, “For every person of wealth in that city, how many live in poverty?”

Hawke sighed.

“Hassrath I never said it was perfect, it’s far from it. But the freedoms we enjoy include the freedom to improve your station. I did it, and believe me it wasn’t easy, but I did it anyway. I came to Kirkwall nothing, _with_ nothing but the armor and daggers that my father had left me. When I left I was not only wealthy, I was Champion and Viscount. Every one of those people living in poverty has the opportunity to change that, but that decision belongs to them and to them alone.”

Hassrath stood silent and staring past Hawke at the city without comment, still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that this was his world now. Maraas looked up at him, feeling a tinge of guilt that he was having such a hard time adjusting to the reality of their new situation. But he had her and if all went according to plan then his place in this society should be assured along with hers. Like Hawke she knew where she wanted to be. Reaching out she slipped her hand into his and when his folded around hers she squeezed, hoping that was enough to reassure him.

Fenris watched the entire exchange from where he leaned against the rail and it settled his mind on something. He well understood that it was at best disconcerting to be in a situation beyond your abilities to understand with nothing. He was positive that the man was trying to figure out how he was to protect Maraas in this city, not seeming to realize yet that because they were in her charge Hawke would defend the both of them and that guaranteed his protection as well. Reaching behind a barrel that was lashed to the railing beside him he pulled out the imposing weapon that Hawke had relieved Maraas of back in the Fog Warrior camp. Hawke hadn’t questioned him on bringing it along with them when they left, simply conceding to his wisdom concerning the male Tal-Vashoth. Fenris had for all the long months at sea, kept the weapon oiled and sharpened, standing silent sentinel in its sheath on a nail in their cabin. He had known at some point he was either going to be giving it back to the man or killing him with it one. Calling Hassrath’s name he tossed the sheathed weapon at him, completely unsurprised when the warrior caught it deftly out of the air before eyeing Fenris cautiously around it.

“That by the way,” Fenris went back to his relaxed pose, leaning back against the rail, cocking his head to indicate the weapon that Hassrath still held up in the air, “Is an impressive piece of work. Heavy, but the balance is perfect.” He paused when Hassrath grasped the hilt and pulled the weapon from its sheath, turning it in the sun to inspect its condition. “I approve.”

Hassrath looked at Fenris for a long moment, one that Hawke had to admit she held her breath waiting to see what he would do. When he resheathed the weapon and slipping it over one shoulder adjusted the longsword across his broad back she let it go and smiled at Maraas.

“As do I,” he finally replied, inclining his head to Fenris in thanks for his seeing so faithfully to his weapon’s care.

“My pleasure.”

Hawke sighed and turned her attention to back to the city, sensing that overplaying this scene would come to no good. She considered his reactions when she had been forced to use magic to defend Isabella’s ship and hoped that Maraas’s assurances and Fenris’s judgment were sound and she wouldn’t find herself on the wrong end of that big sword.

* * *

It took two long days for Klaton to secure a slip for the Siren’s Call and Hawke paced along the rail for a lot of it much to Fenris’s displeasure. It was a habit that he had to admit annoyed, even knowing that it was just her way of thinking. His own habit was to stand silent and often she teasingly accused him of brooding when he did. Watching as the dock workers deftly caught ropes thrown by Isabella’s crew and secured the ship to the dock, Fenris was unsurprised when he saw Varric standing with Klaton patiently waiting for the slip to be lowered. Hawke met the men at the top, looking at Varric expectantly.

“Isabella?” Klaton asked first.

“In her cabin,” Hawke replied evenly, admitting that she had been completely unable to convince the woman to help.

Klaton nodded and walked towards the aftcastle and the largest cabins, including Isabella’s.

“Well,” Varric sighed, “He is presently comfortably ensconced in his estate here in the city. I sent a request for an audience and signed it from the Viscountess of Kirkwall, just to get his attention. I hope that is all right with you.”

Hawke shrugged. If using her titles opened doors in this city so impressed with wealth and status then so be it. But if Castillon was expecting a dainty thing swathed in silk and decorated by jewels he was going to be in for a rude surprise. This Viscountess firmly believed that the only decoration required was her signet ring and the balanced, matching fighting daggers hanging from sheaths on her back. If she was feeling particularly like pushing her position she might dig out the Kirkwall crest to wear hanging from the crisscrossing belts that held her sheaths.

“Well then I guess it’s a waiting game now,” Hawke sighed. “Hopefully his curiosity is raised enough for him to take the bait.”

Varric nodded but had nothing else to offer and wandered off to his own cabin. Hawke crossed her arms and turned to look at where Fenris and Maraas still sat trying not to pay any attention to what was going on, heads over the history book. Hassrath was the only one honest enough to stand behind them, arms crossed and eyeing her with those disconcertingly colored eyes. She knew she was too far away for any of them to have heard what had passed between her and the dwarf and knew that none of them would question her if she didn’t volunteer. Sighing she turned away, not really in the mood to stand and listen as they cautiously sounded out the words from the book, and went to her cabin to pace in private.

It was hours later when Fenris found her sitting at the table in their cabin, sullenly tapping the tip of one of her throwing daggers into the wood. Silently sitting a plate of food from the galley in front of her he gently took the dagger from her and set it aside, replacing it with a fork. She looked from him to the fork and back before deciding that perhaps he was right and silently stabbing at the unidentifiable meat chunks in some sort of broth, chewed slowly and thoughtfully. Fenris recognizing this mood sat and ate silently, until she suddenly reached out and took his hand, carefully placing something inside it before squeezing his fingers shut over it and pulling away. Looking at his hand, he opened it to find that it held a linen cloth on which was embroidered a crest. Turning his gaze on her questioningly, she shrugged slightly.

“The Amell family crest,” she murmured. “I don’t know how well known it might be in Antiva City, but the fact your wearing a favor at all should impart that someone of prominence would frown on finding you dead in the street.” When he didn’t react, she sighed. “And it would please me if you wore it.”

Fenris regarded her a moment more, silently considering what she had said. Their relationship was something of a dark area, not something that either of them was willing to question or discuss. Fenris himself was still trying to decide exactly what it was that this woman wanted with him. He had nothing, _was_ nothing and still she happily submitted to him and laid curled to him every night, still spent as many hours as it took to teach him and to read to him from Danarius’s journals even now. He had a decent grip on reading the common tongue but was as unwilling to take that duty from her as she was to relinquish it. Whatever this was it had become more comfortable to the elf than he had ever expected and he was loathed to examine it any closer than that, afraid of what might come of a closer inspection. Deciding after that brief reflection that if it would please her then it was his pleasure to oblige no matter if her motives had deeper meaning or not. He nodded and tucked the linen favor in his belt, trying hard to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest as he did.

* * *

Hassrath sat with his sheathed sword across his lap and silently contemplated the elf that had returned it to him. He didn’t know if the elf understood that ingrained into every Qunari was a protectiveness of the tool of their trade that was given to them the day that their role was assigned or how disconcerting it was for them to be without that tool. This functional but ornate tool had been the only thing that Hassrath had chosen to take with him when they had made their silent escape from the Ben-Hassrath reeducation camp that had for many years been their home. He had chosen to take it because even as a Tal-Vashoth he knew he would feel naked without it and that it had been forcibly taken from him had over the months caused him no end of grief. Deep down if he were to admit it even to himself he had been angry with Maraas for even asking that he should surrender it. That Fenris had returned it brought a peace deep inside his still wounded soul and that this strangely magical warrior elf had taken such pains as to treat this weapon as if it was his own and taken care of it raised the Kossith’s opinion of the man a great deal. It was an opinion that had over the long months since their capture had been both sorely tested as well as pleasantly elevated in often equal measure.

Looking at the sleeping Maraas, silently studying a face relaxed in sleep he sighed. That he cared deeply for this woman was without doubt. That he would happily die in her defense a given. He had given up everything to follow wherever she might lead him, even into barbaric lands beyond the control of the Qun. Her misery in the dogma of their former lives had created inside him a deep reservoir of unhappiness that he would move mountains to change.

Silently he sat his sword aside and made himself as comfortable as possible in the short bed across from hers and not for the first time wondered at her feelings for him.


	29. Chapter 29

Castillon stood silent, hands clasped behind his straight back and gazed out at the impressive view afforded by his personal office at his estate. Friends and enemies alike thought him insane for putting it in one of the two towers, the only entrance being up more than a few flights of stairs inside the house and then several stories of stairs that swirled around the inside of the tower until you reached the offices of his secretary on the floor beneath this. Another set of stairs then brought you into his sanctum. They didn’t understand that the inspiring views in all directions afforded by the windows as well as the walkway that encircled the top of the tower were worth the extra effort as far as he was concerned. There was almost not a corner of Antiva City that this panorama didn’t cover.

Today he stood watching the port some miles distant. Today three things were drawing his attention there. Two were lying on his mostly organized desk and to most the two things would seem inconsequential and unrelated. One was a quick missive sent by one of his agents at the docks, swearing by his sainted mother that the Bane was at dock under another name, the other being a request for an audience by the ‘Kirkwall Viscountess.’ The third was the man standing behind him, back just as straight as his own. The years at sea had been kind to him even if his duties had become harsher than he had known while in Castillon’s own employ.

“All I want is your assurance that you have nothing in mind to harm her that is all. The rest I will let you decide on your own.”

“Klaton,” Castillon sighed, shaking his head sadly. Would this man never understand? “I have no intention of doing anything to cause harm to your Isabella. I have a certain respect for a woman that can command, and I certainly have respect for one that can outwit me. I know she fears me but it is unfounded.” Turning he regarded Klaton a moment before walking to his desk and sitting, hands steepled. “Tell me brother; have the years in her employ been worth thumbing your nose at me?”

“Half brother if it’s all the same,” Klaton replied stiffly. “I am sure your mother would roll over in her grave to think she might have to recognize your father’s bastard.”

“True.” Castillon had to give that point to his… half brother. “But you have not answered my question.”

“Isabella’s employ is… challenging,” Klaton admitted lightly. “But answering to no one has its own rewards.”

“That,” Castillon regarded the younger man thoughtfully, “It does.”

“Look,” Klaton finally sighed, “I do not want to downplay your part in my life. Or Father’s either. But what you were offering wasn’t for me.” Pausing to wave a hand to indicate the richly appointed office, he continued, “I was not made for this. And I was not made to command. I am happiest where I am, doing what I am doing. I am not ungrateful that you got me out of Orlais and gave me a place of some merit, but once Father died…. Antiva….”

Castillon nodded, understanding completely.

“Isabella doesn’t know. I thought it better not to mention that because in the beginning it might have got me keelhauled. Not entirely sure it wouldn’t now.” Klaton paused when Castillon chuckled, sitting back in his chair to eye him sharply. “I would prefer to keep that status quo if it is all the same to you.”

“Secrets,” Castillon tsked, amused. “Well I can certainly see where it might be… uncomfortable for the two of you, this knowledge.”

“She wishes that I accompany Hawke….”

“And they are close, yes I know.” He chuckled at the look Klaton shot him. “Oh nothing nefarious I assure you. When I met this Hawke she was still simply the Champion of Kirkwall but I was unaware of that fact. It was a… tumultuous time in the city-state, which was precisely why I was there. When I agreed to turn over the Bane to Isabella and leave her in peace I had no idea that both the city’s Champion as well as her Guard Captain were standing right there and that the business dealings I was endeavoring to protect were already compromised. After that I made it my business to pay attention to who was who in Kirkwall. I know this Hawke’s story and also know that she has not been seen in Kirkwall for a decade or better even if she does still carry the title.”

“She’s been in Seheron.”

“Seheron,” Castillon’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“She can better explain her reasons for wanting to meet with you than I can. You have only to invite her.”

Castillon regarded his half brother thoughtfully before standing and returning to gaze out at the docks.

“Perhaps this is worth my consideration after all. I wasn’t sure but Isabella working up the nerve to show her face in Antiva City and now,” he paused to look over his shoulder at Klaton, “You. I am intrigued.”

Klaton nodded, knowing that this was as close as he was going to get to a dismissal because this man was now lost in thought. Turning he retreated down the many stairs, leaving Castillon to his musing.

Klaton might have been surprised had he been able to read his half brother’s thoughts. They involved days spent in one of the exclusive and expensive brothels of the city as a child, brought there by his beloved father to visit with his mistress. He paid a small ransom to keep her ensconced in this house in her own apartments but then money had been nothing to this son of Antiva City. Castillon had loved this woman and her kindness and grace, never once treating him harshly simply because he was not hers. When she had given birth to Klaton, she had never treated either boy better. And in her company Castillon had felt the affection that he never once felt from his own mother, a stiff, shrill and judgmental woman who could never be pleased.

When his mother had discovered the affair she took it as an affront to her status in the city, and humiliated beyond description she had used her own families influence to have Klaton and his mother banished from Antiva. Heartbroken, Klaton’s mother had returned to her native Orlais with her son and it was not until after Castillon’s own mother’s death that his father had sent his son to find her. Klaton’s mother had died many years before but Castillon had managed to track down the half brother that he remembered fondly working as a deck hand on a merchant’s ship. By this time he was a young man and his wealthy half brother’s promises of adventure had tweaked his adolescent sense of himself and he had given no thought to returning to Antiva with him. He had nothing in Orlais to hold him.

‘But something holds you now, doesn’t it?’ Castillon chuckled lightly before returning to his desk, pulling out a parchment and a quill.

* * *

Hawke eyed the overdressed man standing on the deck next to the slip. The ornate metal pin affixed to his doublet was blazoned with heraldry that she recognized as belonging to Castillon. When she had presented herself to him as the Viscountess he had eyed her dubiously but had turned over the folded parchment in his possession with a cordial inclination of his head and waited patiently for her to read it. Sighing Hawke eyed the man unhappily but knowing it would do no good to kill the messenger simply because she was unhappy with the message, she nodded and calling on all the training her mother had ever instilled in her, she graciously accepted the invitation. Happy, the man turned smartly and retreated from the ship with more dignity than Hawke would have had had she been dressed like that.

“Well?”

Hawke looked down at Varric a moment before handing him the parchment.

“I was pleased to learn of your arrival in our fair city and it would be my extreme pleasure to invite you to a small dinner party I am hosting ,” Varric shot a look up at Hawke from under his lashes, already seeing where this was going. “It will be held at my estate, ten days hence. If you see fit to graciously accept, I will send a carriage. Please do bring our mutual friend…” Varric paused to digest what he was seeing a moment before smiling broadly, “Our mutual friend, the ever lovely Isabella along. We have much to catch up on!” Letting his arm drop without finishing he looked up at the poop deck where Isabella and Klaton both stood watching before stating mildly, “I never said anything about her. You do realize this means we will have to ‘dress,’ right? And how to you intend to convince Isabella?”

“Yes,” Hawke fired shortly, “I do understand that it means we will have to dress. And I have no idea.”

Varric snorted in an attempt to cover over an amused chuckle, but it did nothing to disguise the twinkle in his eye. When Hawke shot him a sour look, he turned on his heal and walked the other way before she got ideas about using one of those daggers on him.

* * *

Hawke stared at herself in the mirror that Isabella had hidden away in her cabin. Behind her a very self-satisfied dressmaker clucked and tried to not look pompous at the accomplishments she and her assistants had managed to make over the ten days given them. Taking dresses that were already completed and almost working around the clock they had managed to even create something suitable for the tall Maraas. The Kossith woman had in the beginning literally scared the women but a few days of Maraas’s quiet grace had won them over and they took to the challenge of creating something suitably exotic for her. The real challenge had been the pirate woman, who it would seem had never been fitted for anything of substance and who obviously resented the entire idea.

Hawke was still unsure by what methods Varric had convinced Isabella that she needed to accompany them on this outing and wasn’t entirely sure she really wanted to know because Isabella was at best sullen about the whole process. She looked at the dresses that the seamstresses had brought with them the first visit to test out with a jaundiced eye, refusing to even try most of them until finally one had caught her eye.

Hawke, who had grown up a tomboy, had even as Viscount deferred these decisions to others so she had allowed the dressmaker to choose whatever she felt was appropriate for the occasion and what she had chosen was a red Orlesian silk dress made in an Antivan style. The bodice was contoured to her with a simple trim of flowers made of golden thread, showing just enough of her tanned cleavage to make Hawke uncomfortable but that the seamstress insisted was becoming. The arms were formfitting with several trimmed slits that allowed sly glances at her tanned arms. Across her slim hips the silk was draped, hanging in graceful, petite folds that alternated between two subtle hues of red, one shiny and the other duller and on anyone else would have added unnecessary bulk. On Hawke’s slim form it just enhanced the hourglass form that the dress was striving to show off. The skirt flowed away from her hips to the floor in supple folds, the same simple trim following them at the hem. Even Hawke’s jaundiced view of dresses was impressed with the overall effect.

“Oh Hawke,” Maraas had gaped, “That is so lovely! The color…”

“The color of fresh blood,” Isabella remarked with forced casualness, completely ignoring the insulted noises the dressmaker made at the description, “Suits you.”

“Well,” Hawke turned to regard the dress that Isabella wore thoughtfully. “I must say blue suits you as well. But did you have to insist on that neckline?”

Smirking Isabella posed with her mostly exposed bosom thrust out.

“If you have to be trussed up like a turkey going to the spit?” she argued, “You go showing off your best assets.”

Maraas regarded the privateer a moment, unsure if she was serious or not. Isabella had many assets and the two on her chest were just one.  That she insisted on pushing her sexuality in the faces of everyone around her just confused the Kossith woman but she did have to admit that it did seem to get results and that royal blue formfitting dress would do as much of the work as Isabella’s own sensuous demeanor. Looking down at her own gown, a simple draping affair of black and gold that left her back bare and that the dressmaker insisted showed both her tall slim figure and her bronzed skin to advantage she wondered why it was these people insisted their woman had to be shown off like some prize.

“Now,” the short wrinkled dressmaker announced as she pointed to several chairs, “For the hair.”

Hawke sighed and did as she was told, unsure what anyone would be able to do with hair grown long and shaggy over their journey.

* * *

The hours were almost made worth it when the women exited the captain’s quarters. The men all stood on the deck in the slowly dimming daylight and the only one that managed to not look stone-struck was Hassrath and even he stared at Maraas thoughtfully. Varric, dressed in the best dwarven finery he could find in Antiva City just blinked at Hawke several times and whistled. Klaton, dressed in a simple but richly appointed black doublet and leather breaches with an ornately hilted sword at his hip made no comment but was given away by the surprised inspection of his captain and her friends. Fenris, who had been standing to the side of the door, leaned against the wall simply stood straight as Hawke walked past him without seeing him, letting his eyes follow the line of her back before she turned and he got the full effect. Suddenly finding himself fighting a desire to forego this party and take her straight to their cabin, he stepped forward to lightly run his thumb along the line of her jaw and Hawke, seeing how his eyes had darkened perceptively silently decided that maybe, just maybe she didn’t feel quite so naked without her weapons now. That look told her she not only had all of his at her disposal this man would at this moment do anything she asked of him.

Both Fenris and Hassrath had forgone the idea of dressing, instead the elf had on his imposing black armor and Hassrath, after some convincing had donned a simple black leather vest over black leather breaches. Around his neck a gold torc glittered in the waning light. Both men wore their weapons prominently across their backs, both having decided independently that their roles this night would be that of bodyguard, standing watch over their own respective women.

While waiting for the carriage to arrive Klaton disappeared, returning after some minutes carrying a carved wooden box. Opening it he held it out and Isabella’s eyebrows rose when she saw that it was filled with jewelry, some she recognized as booty from the Tevinter ships they had raided in the past. These pieces must have ended up in his cut and for some reason he hadn’t sold them. Looking at him inquisitively she began pushing things around. Fenris, looking over her shoulder curiously suddenly reached out and plucked one piece out of the box.  Looking at the simple polished jet orchid set in gold and hanging from a delicate gold chain, he turned to where Hawke stood talking with Varric. Slipping up behind her he had it around her throat before she had a chance to protest and while she stood looking down at where it lay just above the valley created by her cleavage he laid his hands on her shoulders and whispered in her ear, “It would please me if you wore it.”

Hawke looked from the charm over her shoulder at him and recognized her own words returned to her. Nodding almost imperceptively she leaned back against him and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. Looking at her smile Fenris knew that no matter what it took, Klaton was not getting this particular piece back. He still wore her wolf charm, considered it as much a part of his armor as he did his gauntlets and even now it was nestled beneath his jerkin.

When the watch called that a carriage approached, Hawke sighed. Fun time was over, time to put Hawke in a box and lock her away. Now she needed to wear a hat she hadn’t donned in a decade, that of Viscount…. Pausing to look down at herself a moment she amended that to Viscountess of Kirkwall. Following behind the others as they made their way down the slip, Fenris couldn’t help but see the sad look that had washed across Hawke’s face for just the briefest second before she schooled her features into something hard and haughty, something that gave away nothing. Once everyone was safely inside the carriage, Fenris and Hassrath both stood on the runners on either side holding to two ornate brass handles put there so that guards could ride ready for any trouble. Nodding sharply to the driver, with a flick of the reigns the carriage was off.

Maraas sat holding back the curtain that was meant to keep the occupants of the carriage concealed, opening staring as the nature of the streets changed from that of seediness and poverty to that of unashamed wealth and grandeur. High walls decorated by pilasters and topped with wrought iron spikes were broken by wide wrought iron gates, giving brief glimpses of paved courtyards, often with small fountains or trees in their center. The houses were often mammoth, housing generations of particular families in their own comfortable apartments and their facades were consistently elaborate with fluted columns, decorative lintels and expensive glass windows of all shapes and sizes. Many were stuccoed ornately with designs and many colors. All were impressive and the Kossith woman so used to utilitarian designs was left gaping and wondering where to look next.

When the carriage finally turned past a gate, through a high, thick granite wall and into an enormous paved courtyard with graceful and well tended flowering bushes lining its interior and an abstract fountain made of various shapes in its center, even Isabella had to gape at the sheer size. The house itself was four stories high with additional wings to be seen past the courtyard and with windows lining each floor, the bottom two lit brightly. The door itself was almost big enough for the carriage to drive through and was guarded on either side by fluted columns that raised two stores to be capped by an ornately carved lintel that itself had a statue of Castillon’s family heraldry atop it. Unlike some of its neighbors this house proudly showed off the locally quarried light grey granite it was made of, trimmed around the windows and at intervals along its façade with black marble. Torches lined the front of the house as well as the courtyard and as servants smartly dressed in the grey and black colors of Castillon’s heraldry stepped forward to open the carriage and assist the occupants out, both Fenris and Hassrath stepped down, keeping careful eye on everything. When two more servants, these dressed in black pulled the enormous doors open to reveal a brightly lit and large foyer a man stepped forward until he was framed in the doorway and the opulence that the simple exterior of his house hid.

Castillon stood, hands clasped behind his back silently observing his guests in turn, nothing particular showing on his face. He didn’t seem overly surprised at the unusual make up of the entourage accompanying her. As he paused a bit longer to take in Fenris and Hassrath, Hawke looked him over. He hadn’t changed all that much since she’d last seen him in Kirkwall. Some grey peppered his sideburns and the inevitable lines that came from spending hours outdoors in the sun weathered his face but on him it gave a charm. He wore a simple doublet of black with grey trim over black breaches with shiny black riding boots. A little shock of white showed at his throat where a frilled shirt collar peeked out from under the doublet. Finally he stepped forward, making for Hawke first since she was royalty and the reason they were all there. Stopping in front of her he bowed and taking her hand lightly grazed his lips across the knuckles before straightening and smiling.

“Welcome to my home Marian Hawke, Viscountess of Kirkwall.” Making a point to look her up and down, he remarked lightly, “May I say that you look most enchanting.”

“You may,” Hawke returned lightly, inclining her head slightly in acceptance of the compliment.

“But you must introduce me to your friends,” he murmured smoothly.

Hawke turned to Maraas, who was still trying to take it all in. When Castillon repeated his bow, also kissing her hand, she blinked at him unsure what to say. Castillon graciously smoothed over the awkward moment by winking and smiling. Next she introduced Varric, who bowed in response to Castillon but made no comment when the older man simply cocked an eyebrow at him. Isabella, who had been more or less hiding behind Klaton stepped boldly forward and dimpling her cheeks at the object of her fear, held her hand out to him.

“Ah Isabella,” Castillon smiled brightly at her as he took his time kissing her hand. “It has been far too long. And Klaton as well, what a surprise! Word of your exploits in the Ventosus Straits has even reached as far as Antiva. Plenty of Raiders are wondering why you refuse to align with them. Of course they wouldn’t do anything about it when you so regularly bring in such fine Tevinter goods.”

“Well,” Isabella reached out to toy with the white collar as she looked up at him through her lashes, “It’s always a pleasure to show Tevinters to be fools who should stay off the sea.”

Castillon chuckled and catching Isabella’s hand, again kissed it before turning his attention back to Hawke.

“Please, introduce me to these two,” he held a hand out to where Fenris and Hassrath stood, cocking an eyebrow at Hawke, “I am assuming bodyguards? I assure you that you have nothing to fear in my house m’lady.”

“They are as much companions as they are guards,” Hawke assured him, laying a hand lightly on his arm. “The big one is Hassrath and he is with Maraas. Fenris,” she looked at him a moment, trying to decide how to introduce him and finally settled on the truth considering the mores here in Antiva. “Fenris is my personal companion.”

This made Castillon look at the elf a little harder, wondering. The armor smacked of Tevinter and the unusual tattoos… ‘Where did this man come from and how,’ he wondered to himself, ‘Has he ended up bedding even an estranged ruler?’ Inclining his head to Fenris politely, he turned his attention back to Hawke. Apparently this Viscountess had… exotic tastes. Fenris gritted his teeth and kept a stoic expression at the other man’s close inspection. This man wielded enough power to get away with not even trying to keep his thoughts hidden. Behind it though, he wondered at Hawke’s introduction of him.

“Let us retire inside,” he announced with an air of authority as he held his arm out for his guests to precede him. “I have invited several people and they are all excited to meet you.”

The foyer immediately captured Maraas with its decorative marble floors and painted plaster walls. Niches ran along its length, each with a statue standing on a fluted pedestal. Castillon, seeing her innocent interest paused to explain that some were of some of his ancestors, each successful merchants in Antiva and some were just works that he rather liked and had decided to add to the collection started generations before. There were, he explained, similar statues in all the public rooms of the mansion and the collection had such reputation that he was often petitioned by various scholars to allow them to come study them. Maraas nodded thoughtfully as he spoke, running a finger down the muzzle of a very well reproduced tiger as she did. She recognized Qunari work in it and looked at Castillon thoughtfully.

Fenris, following at the rear with Hassrath, had quickly looked the room over as they had entered, noting the servants and their locations and deciding that he would never understand the desire to collect things, things that held you where you were simply because of their sheer volume. Glancing at Hassrath sideways he saw that the Qunari in him was not quite dead yet and that the display that this mansion provided tweaked at his sense of social justice when his features settled into a disapproving scowl.

About halfway down the foyer there were two doors on either side, one firmly closed and the other Castillon pushed open to reveal a large sitting room. The white walls were painted with scenes of rolling farmland and forested lakes. Tucked among these were bookcases with obviously expensive and in some cases obviously old volumes along with more statuary, these mostly bronze and porcelain. Windows lined one wall to show off a garden and a large door was thrown open to give access to a small paved veranda over looking it. Couches and chairs were arranged about the room in groupings and several ornate gaming tables were in evidence. The first thing Fenris noted though, were the two men and one woman already in attendance.

One sat indolently with a crystal glass in one hand and legs stretched out with his ankles crossed. He was older, his dark and long braided hair liberally salted with grey but his elven face was accepting the years gracefully with few deep wrinkles. The wide almond shaped eyes shared by all elves were a curiously dark, almost black color and they took in the new arrivals with a fast sharpness that belied the casual physical lethargy. His dress was simple – a burgundy shirt Fenris knew to be favored by archers because the sleeves were more fitted at the wrists that he had not bothered to lace and black breaches. That this man was not ‘simple’ was evident though in the easy air of command he had about him, much the same as Castillon’s own.

Next to him, sitting in high-backed chair was a woman dressed in a gown of the same burgundy, trimmed liberally with black. Her gold hair was twisted and piled on her head, black feathers and black wooden ornaments holding the bun in place. She paused in what she was saying as the new arrivals entered and, taking them in at a glance, she finished before standing and approaching.

The third stood beyond them, leaned against the frame of the open doors. This one didn’t bother trying to hide what he was; he stood in black leather armor with two fighting daggers strapped to his back and a short sword to his hip. He didn’t make an effort to straighten upon their arrival, but his every move spoke of attention to detail and Fenris knew that Castillon’s guests were not just Antivan aristocracy.

“Ah,” the woman enthused lightly, “They have arrived! You must introduce me Castillon; I have so few chances to meet foreign royalty except at the point of my weapons.”

Castillon chuckled as he held out his arm for her to wrap hers around before turning to Hawke.

“May I introduce the ever lovely Masina,” he paused to affectionately pat the woman’s hand. “She is… how did you put it? My personal companion? And,” he looked at Fenris levelly before continuing. “She is an Antivan Crow.”

Fenris cocked an eyebrow at the merchant, trying to decide how to take this announcement before replying in an equally level tone, “As are they all.”

“Ah, this Viscountess does not disappoint,” the man sat forward, laughing lightly as he stood. “She has chosen her bodyguard wisely. But you must explain how you ended up with the prized slave of a dead Tevinter Senator to me.”

Hawke, who had wisely kept her council through this, could see that Castillon was about to say something when Masina decided to step in. Taking Hawke’s hand she pulled her with her to where the elf stood, scolding him gently as she did.

“There will be time for tales later so have patience. First may I introduce my superior, Master Fantin,” the elf inclined his head politely, his attention still half on the white-haired shadow that had followed behind her. Pausing to let the blonde man behind them straighten and approach, she pointed to him. “That is my brother Vicenzo.” Glancing over Hawke’s shoulder she met Fenris’s eye boldly. “He is also an Assassin of the Crows, but you knew that didn’t you?” Returning her attention to the two men before her, she politely announced, “This is our guest, Marian Hawke, Viscountess of Kirkwall.”

“I am,” Hawke, after quietly watching the interplay between these people and Fenris decided on a direct approach with them. They weren’t made of the same stuff as most nobles, born and raised to the role, “A great many things, only one of which is Viscount. Please do not feel you must stand on ceremony simply because of the title.”

“Oh I _like_ her already,” Fantin chuckled before taking a slow drink from the glass he still held. “Marian, that’s an Orlesian name. That Kirkwall still regards Orlais in any fashion after throwing off their rule amazes me.”

“Why?” Hawke countered, a little disconcerted that this man seemed to know her history so well. “The Orlesians liberated the city from the Qunari and the reasons for ‘throwing off’ Orlesian rule had more to do with a general desire to captain our own destiny than for any poor rulership on the part of Orlais. No any animosity for Orlais I have comes from their continued desire to retake my homeland Ferelden and King Alistair can count on any support that Kirkwall can give should they try it.”

“Yes,” Fantin regarded Hawke a moment, taking in the quiet fervency of her words before sitting again. “I do think I like you.”

Inclining her head politely, Hawke sat next to him on the couch, looking at Castillon as she did.

“Well,” she sighed. “Can we get down to the business I wished to discuss with you or do we have to stand on more ceremony?”

Fantin almost choked on his drink, trying hard not to laugh aloud and only partially succeeding. Castillon, far from offended by her direct manner, threw back his head and laughed outright.

“I am beginning to think I like you as well Marian Hawke, even if you have cost me no small amount of sovereign and effort in the past. Yes, if it is your desire to ‘get to business,’ then let us do so.” Pausing to look at his other guests, he remarked, “I hope you do not mind that we discuss this business before an audience. I suspect that it has to do with things that would also interest Master Fantin and I rarely keep things from Masina.”

Hawke simply looked at him as though she would not have been surprised if Castillon had asked the Antivan Queen to the party and again amused Castillon sat across from her, Masina next to him. Maraas sat in a chair to Hawke’s side and like Fenris, Hassrath took position behind her, circumspectly watching the blonde Crow who, after his introduction had returned to the door where he could listen while he carefully watched the darkness outside. Isabella considered sitting but decided she had far too much pent up nervous energy and instead slipped past Vicenzo to stand on the porch, wishing she was anywhere but here. Klaton, after a brief moment followed her unsurprised to see her pacing along the rail. Rather than disturb her, he decided to stand across the wide doorway from Vicenzo.

“She is… uneasy is she not?” Vicenzo remarked lightly.

“She has a less than pleasant history with Castillon.”

“This,” Vicenzo replied, “I know. She does not remember me but I was there, sent as an apprentice by Master Fantin to see what Castillon intended to do about this upstart female captain he had employed. Master Fantin had already paid him for the right to chose among the children on the ship and was keen to see her punished. That she managed to succeed in stealing the book and then continue on to create such a sensation in Kirkwall and survive still amuses him.”

Klaton looked Vicenzo over again but was unsurprised that Isabella didn’t remember him. It had been a long time ago and Crows were taught to be good with disguise. It was one of the reasons that they not only made good assassins, they also made good spies. There was little of note in Thedas that the Crows did not know about. That Isabella’s creative punishment had been Fantin’s idea _did_ surprise him because although Crows were well known for subtlety it was usually not so… insidiously thought out in advance.

“Hey,” Varric, who had silently approached suddenly chimed in, “I know you. You are that overdressed messenger that brought the invitation.”

Vicenzo looked at the dwarf a moment, eyes hooded before nodding once. Varric chuckled and looked up at Klaton.

“We are definitely swimming with the sharks now.”

Klaton sighed and crossing his arms looked back out at Isabella, who was now standing with her back to them, staring at the dark. ‘You have no idea little man,’ he thought wryly and would have been surprised had he known that Vicenzo’s thoughts mirrored his own.

* * *

As the carriage pulled away Fenris could feel this Master Fantin’s gaze on him as it had been over and over throughout the night. The elf’s attention was irritating enough, that he somehow seemed to know something of his story just rubbed Fenris wrong. The subject had not come up again as the evening had progressed, far more important things were on the table for the man to consider. As much as Fantin seemed curious about him, he was curious to know precisely why.

When his guests disappeared through the gates, Castillon turned a look on his friend. Fantin shrugged and turned, knowing exactly what Castillon was thinking.

“I am sorry I didn’t explain the elf to you,” he sighed. “I was unsure that he was the right one.”

“He has lyrium tattooed into his skin Fantin,” Castillon chuckled. “How more distinct could he be? My people told me of him but I had no idea his origins were Tevinter, much less the property of a Senator.”

“My contacts,” Fantin smiled ironically, “Are more far reaching than your own Castillon, you know this.” Pausing before the door of the sitting room, Fantin waved a hand dismissively. “And he is unimportant really, just something I would better understand is all. The rest of what she tells us….”

“I know,” Castillon sighed. “It begins to make sense now, this oddness we have seen in Minrathous.”

“Indeed it does.” Fantin pursed his lips thoughtfully before continuing into the room, “Indeed, it does.”

* * *

Maraas excused herself immediately upon their arrival back at the ship, claiming fatigue and retiring with Hassrath in tow to their room. Isabella, still too wound up suggested a game of Wicked Grace. Varric immediately accepted along with Klaton. Hawke herself begged off, too physically tired to sit still she knew and too distracted by her own thoughts to be much of a challenge anyway. Instead she wandered along the rail, looking out at the city swathed in darkness and light, stars watching over the things happening in dark corners and lit streets everywhere. Much as she hated sailing, hating the emptiness as much as the sickness, she wished they were at sea. At least there smells didn’t assail your every breath, and there was a comfort in the sound of the wind and the waves. Here there was a constant background hum from the never ending work of loading and unloading ships. Finally settling, she leaned her elbows to the rail, looking out away from the city to the harbor where lights dotted the calm waters, each a ship waiting a turn at the docks.

Fenris watched, having silently followed behind her. Something inside him was having trouble understanding that his guard could now be safely lowered or at least as lowered as it ever truly was and he knew that the reason was his own conditioning and hers. He had just spent hours watching as she… changed. She was not the same Hawke for all her normal directness that he had grown accustomed to. She had drawn an air of authority to herself to match that of either Castillon or Fantin and she had worn it _comfortably_. This was the woman who had stood boldly before him that night in Tevinter, ordering him down when Danarius lay dead at her feet and who had pushed him to follow her through the streets of Minrathous in escape. He was not at all sure what to make of it, or this rarely seen side to her tonight but he knew that it brought out the training instilled painfully into him. That these habits could be so easily brought out of the dark made him… apprehensive. Finally after watching her for some time, seeing that she had become lost inside her own thoughts and as much to reassure himself as anything, he stepped up behind her.

Hawke knew he was there even if his approach had been silent. The gentle smell of the oil he used on his armor wafted past her on the breeze and sighing she realized he had been there all along. So very many things were banging around in her mind and she realized she didn’t want to discuss _any_ of them, she just wanted them to be silent, to leave her in peace for once. When his hands came to rest lightly on her shoulders, just where when he spread his fingers they climbed her neck to her jaw before returning, she allowed herself to relax into his gentle touch. Feeling the tension along her shoulders subside though not completely, he studied the line of her neck revealed by the fancy Orlesian braids that had been used to capture and contain her hair, coming together at the nape of her neck and then combined to one. Deciding suddenly that, as becoming as the wisps of hair left free to frame her face were, he much preferred her hair flowing and he pulled out the ribbon to begin gently pulling it from confinement. With everything else going on Hawke had not noticed how much the tight braids had added to her general tension and as they slowly came loose she sighed, content to allow him to use his fingers to comb out the last of them. As he did he leaned forward so that he could bury his nose in a handful, breathing in a smell that was undeniably her and that brought back memories of her in Seheron.

Of her sometimes sitting close as she read to him, her finger following the words as she read them for him.

Of her just reaching out for no reason just to touch him, something at first he had found disconcerting but as time went on he’d come to not only to accept as her way but that he now missed as she spent so much time wrapped in thought.

Of her, stretched beneath him relaxed and accepting of him as he lay sated, not quite ready to leave her even for the tender embraces that inevitably followed as they curled to one another to sleep. Or of the nights when none of that happened and they just lay together, one understanding that the other didn’t need that and instead yearned to just be held.

As he allowed her hair to flow between his fingers Fenris realized something, something significant and that rocked him to the very core. He had once asked her what he was to her in a moment of anger brought on by his own weakness but had soon realized that wasn’t the question that mattered. What he meant to her was less important than what she meant to him and in this moment of gentle sensuality he realized that she had come to mean… everything. This woman had somehow managed to become the center of his soul and it had been so natural, so unassuming that he had never even realized that it was happening. Sighing, recognizing somewhere that this defeat sweet though it was, would probably be his undoing one day he reached around her and pulled her back against him.

They stood there like that for a long time; each lost in their own thoughts but connected to each other in a simple but important way that for differing reasons had long been denied them both – touch.


	30. Chapter 30

Castillon paced, for once the view from his office not soothing. Master Fantin watched with a faintly amused twist to his lips as he did.

“I think both you and the Viscountess have an inflated view of my influence with the Raiders.”

“Oh I have no illusions,” Fantin returned lightly. “I am well aware that we are talking about a rather ragtag group of cutthroats. But Hawke is right, she needs them. Her Kirkwall has no real standing navy to offer, only a smart fleet used to keep these same pirates off their waters. And she will have no time to start trying to court the support of people who do. If the Qunari are already as prepared as she fears, they could be seen off the coast of Tevinter’s holdings in Seheron any day.”

Castillon paused to regard Fantin a moment.

“Her people are going to think her insane.”

“Quite possibly, yes,” Fantin chuckled darkly as he took a drink from his glass. “What self-respecting ruler, _even_ one who has spent a decade in their own self-imposed exile, demands assistance for the Tevinter Empire? Against the Qunari of all things? _Especially_ when the Divine herself has refused such assistance in the past and Kirkwall is still smarting from their own brush with these alien peoples?” He paused to hold the glass out, a finger pointing to Castillon as he did. “But you and I both know that she is more than likely right. My informants tell me that there have been a great deal of conscriptions in the provinces, and your people are telling you about a buildup in their naval presence in Seheron. Something is certainly going on in Tevinter that the powers that be in Minrathous are not acknowledging publicly.” Pausing to sigh heavily, he finished, “How like them? If I can’t see it, it can’t be as large a problem as all that. Bah! Magisters who can’t think past the end of their noses, made powerful for no better reason than they can fire off a smart fireball when needed. Danarius was one of the only ones with good sense and the Senate is less for his death.”

“Hadriana has potential,” Castillon remarked with a slight tilt to his head.

Fantin made a rude noise, followed by some elven curses that Castillon didn’t quite catch.

“She is a bitch,” he finally declared, “And crafty one. I wouldn’t trust her at my back for even a second,” Shaking his head, he sat his glass down on the table next to the chair. “She will sell her soul for more power and wouldn’t hesitate to sell yours too.”

Castillon’s lips curled at the tone of his old friend’s voice, as well as his choice of words.

“Oh this is the kettle calling the pot black!” When Fantin shot him a hard look, Castillon simply waved him off. “I have spent the better part of what? The nearly thirty years we have known one another waiting to feel the bite of either your dagger or your scheming ways. That we have made it this far sometimes amazes me.”

Fantin’s reply wasn’t immediate, instead he leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out with the ankles crossed and his hands folded in his lap. He regarded Castillon, his eyebrow arched high over eyes that glittered with intelligence.

“I had no idea you had these misgivings Castillon,” he finally replied, his voice vaguely amused. “Is this why you took my daughter to your bed?”

Now it was Castillon’s turn to consider his response.

“No,” he sighed and turned to look out the window behind his desk, the one that afforded a view of the palace. “I care deeply for Masina but I suspect she would just make it easier.”

 “Most likely, yes.” Fantin tilted his head at Castillon’s back, nodding though the man couldn’t see him. “But you have nothing to fear from me Castillon, whether you believe that or not. I am fond of you and have refused more than a few commissions against you in the past.”

Castillon sighed. How had this conversation glided so far off course?

“I will see about getting word to Belinus. If anyone in the Raiders of the Waking Sea has influence enough to resurrect the Felicisima Armada it would most likely be him. But we will have our hands full with him.” Castillon turned to regard Fantin, the seriousness of his words painted across his face. “That man is more than a little insane.”

Fantin’s mouth twisted, thinking to himself that it would take an insane man to agree to what was about to be asked.

* * *

Fenris lay propped up on one elbow silently watching Hawke sleep, one finger lightly tracing the jet orchid that lay nestled in the hollow of her throat. When they had finally returned to their cabin she had made to take it off as he had worked at the laces along her back that held the bodice of her dress tight. Even as impatient as he was to get her out of it he had paused, catching both wrists gently. Leaning forward to run his lips lightly along the back of her ear he had whispered deeply, “Not so long as I draw breath.” Her breath had hitched in her chest and he knew she understood the implications of what he’d just said. She hadn’t said anything, just dropped it and nodding laid her head back on his shoulder, allowing him not only to attend to her throat but also a view of the black flower that lay inviting above her exposed cleavage. Just thinking about the way the gold had glittered in the lantern light as she had straddled him, taking him in and slowly pleasured them both as he lay watching fascinated as always by the look of her face and the way her breasts swayed with her rhythm had him wishing she would wake.

Torn between a desire to see her rest and a desire to have her and grumbling deep in his chest he finally leaned down to lightly run his tongue along a nipple. Blowing gently he watched as it pebbled. Glancing up at her and seeing she was still sleeping he smiled and took her in, sucking lovingly and running his teeth against the pebbly surface. The only response he got was her shifting, turning her head. Deciding that Hawke was indeed a deep sleeper and this would require something with more incentive, he slipped his hand across to gently tease at the other breast, noting as he did that this nipple was already hardened. This made her breath catch, but she was still not rousing. Smirking and thinking that her dreams must have just taken an interesting turn, he let his hand slide down her side past her hip and across the thigh. She shifted again, her legs parting for him and her hand landing lightly on the back of his neck. Pausing he looked up at her and found her looking back, eyes still cloudy and lids heavy with the desire he’d woken while she slept. Wishing fervently that there was some way to capture and keep the way she looked just then besides an imperfect memory, he let his finger slip into her and watched as she arched as he found and began teasing her.

When the door flew open, Fenris reacted faster. Without looking to see who it was he was going to be forced to kill he grabbed at the sheet they had kicked to the bottom of the bed during the night and yanked it up to cover Hawke without thinking about himself. Hawke just stared at Isabella, still not awake enough to make sense of what was happening as the pirate took it all in. Chuckling at what was possibly Fenris’s most evil look to date, she leaned over and, nose not a breath from his, pointed down.

“Nice to know that there are some parts of you not covered in silvery glowy stuff,” she cooed.

“Isabella!” Hawke grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at her friend, blushing to the roots of her hair.

“What,” Fenris growled, gritting his teeth and refusing to give the woman the satisfaction of covering himself, “Do you want?”

“That elf fellow from last night is here,” she straightened up, looking at Hawke, “The one from the Crows. He’s asking for you.”

“Fantin?”

Isabella smiled brightly at Fenris, like he was some star pupil and pressed a finger to his shoulder.

“That’s the one! Anyway, much as I… regret interrupting? You two better get dressed.” Pausing to look Fenris over one more time she smiled brightly at Hawke as she left and deliberately leaving the door open as she did, she delivered her parting shot over her shoulder. “Lucky girl.”

Hawke just let herself fall back into the remaining pillow, groaning as she did. Fenris stood to shut the door, firing a “Please knock!” after Isabella as he did. Cursing in Arcanum Fenris sat on the edge of the bed and tried his best to look nonchalant about what had just happened, but now that Isabella wasn’t standing there staring at him he flushed a deep red that even colored his ears. Hawke just looked at him a little fascinated at this delayed reaction and sat so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders.

“She’s right you know,” she whispered, nipping at the lobe of his ear none to gently. “I am a lucky girl.”

“Yes you are,” Fenris sighed, “Lucky I do not draw and quarter her.”

“Well yes,” Hawke quipped lightly, “But if you did that who would steer the ship?”

Chuckling Fenris fired back smartly, “Klaton is more than capable I suspect.”

When they emerged on the deck some time later, Isabella stood discussing something with Klaton. Pausing to turn a simple grin into something of an innuendo, she cocked her head at the door to her cabin.

“He’s in there with Maraas.”

Doing her best to ignore Isabella and with Fenris just radiating hostility, Hawke made for the door.

“Ah there she is!” Master Fantin stood, bowing politely. “Captain Isabella informed me you were still abed. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

“I should have been up anyway,” Hawke waved a hand dismissively at the elf and deliberately ignored Fenris’s snort as he took up station next to Hassrath who was standing leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “The last few weeks must have been more tiring than I gave credit. To what do we owe the honor of your company this morning?”

Fantin sighed, considering his words carefully as he observed the surly mood of Fenris out of the corner of his eye and the dark look that Maraas’s guard always seemed to carry.

“Castillon is sending word to the one man he thinks influential enough, but there is a hitch. Castillon tells me this man is… fairly brutal and gathers to him like minded peoples. He has ten different ships running under his banner. I got the impression that Castillon likes doing business with this man about as much as he would enjoy the pox. But what it ultimately comes down to is you are going to have to deal with him and it might turn bloody.”

Hawke nodded thoughtfully. She’d known that this part of her plan might get dicey but there really was no alternative.

“I suspected as much.”

“Well I am glad that you have thought this through,” Fantin jested lightly as he watched her carefully. “But I would know that you are prepared for this. Tell me, how did you end up with Danarius’s pet?”

Fenris stood straight bristling at the description that he had himself used often coming from this man, but otherwise didn’t move. Maraas, who had sat quietly once Hawke had entered, blinked. Even she knew who Danarius, one of the more powerful and influential of the Tevinter senators was. Eyes ticking to where Fenris stood, she saw that Hassrath was looking sidewise at Fenris as well. If Fantin had sought to surprise a reaction out of Hawke by throwing the question in abruptly he was sorely disappointed. She didn’t even blink, simply leaned back and cocked her head.

“You wish to know if I am prepared for a face to face confrontation with a pirate, one of mean reputation, by knowing how I came to have Fenris? Does that about cover it?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“And exactly how is it that you not only know Danarius by name, you know that Fenris _was_ his property? And knew it before even you laid eyes on either of us last night?”

“Touché,” Fantin chuckled, silently noting her emphasis on her elf’s former status. “I have rather extensive dealings in Tevinter. Magisters are rather some of the Crows’ best customers really. Danarius and I had a bit of an understanding, I didn’t accept commissions against him, warned him when I caught wind of one and he sent a great deal of work my way. Gentleman’s agreement really and it worked out for us both. Imagine my surprise when he turned up dead, knife still lodged neatly between his ribs that alone would have killed him but covered with the poison of a particular breed of Seheron adder. Nasty stuff, it slowly paralyzes one’s ability to control muscles until finally everything is frozen, including your ability to breathe. Even if this assassin hadn’t managed the killing blow simply scratching the man with that poison would have killed him within hours. Even the best Healers can’t stop its effects, just slow them.” Pausing to look past her to where Fenris stood, face impassive, “And when he was discovered dead, his prized possession, an elf tattooed with a literal wealth of lyrium… gone, along with a certain Ferelden refuge who had been hired as a secretary and whose description rather looks familiar.” Looking back at Hawke, Fantin shrugged. “I would know more of the story.”

Fenris, no longer able to contain himself, stepped forward threateningly, allowing his brands to flair as he did.

“You know enough.”

Hawke reached out and caught Fenris’s hand without taking her eyes off Fantin, a studiously neutral look on her face. Fantin looked Fenris over a moment, his own expression changing little at the other elf’s display.

“Nice trick that,” he commented as he met Fenris’s hostile gaze. Fenris just sneered.

“I killed him.” Hawke sighed. “But you knew that already. I did it at the behest of a friend.”

“Must be a very good friend indeed,” Fantin chuckled, looking back to her with an eyebrow cocked. “Even an apprentice Crow knows you only use that potent a poison when you are pretty sure that the commission is probably going to end with your own life forfeit.”

Fenris paused at that, looking down at Hawke who was still regarding Fantin flatly, taking in the implications behind that statement.

“He is,” she replied lightly. “And yes.”

Fantin nodded slowly, reading a lot into the blank expression she presented.

“I won’t ask how you managed it, how you managed to get around this man in the process,” he finally sighed. “It isn’t what is important anyway. Neither is the how he came to be in your bed. That part I can well imagine.” Standing he looked at Fenris, brands still flaring dully as he stood looking down at Hawke. “I would know why you took him though, especially since even having him near you just lights a beacon fire that you are the one that killed Danarius.”

This made Fenris look sharply at him, but Hawke just stared at Fantin a moment, considering her own reply.

“Because it was the right thing.”

Fantin grunted at that, in his experience there was no such thing as a right or wrong thing, there was only what was expedient at that moment. Still, he _was_ far from expedient, even now. Mouth bowed thoughtfully, he took them both in and considered what he had just learned about them. Nodding thoughtfully to himself he turned. As he headed for the door he fired off a nonchalant, “I’ll send word when we find out something.” Pausing with his hand on the latch, he looked back at Hawke. “I’ll speak with the Guildmaster. No promises, each Master has the right to refuse any request as does each Assassin, but I can pledge my support and see about maybe getting more.” With that he was gone.

Hawke was unsure if she should gape or just collapse from the tension that left the room with him. Looking up at Fenris she realized that not all of it had left, some of it was standing right next to her. When Maraas spoke, thinking to ask a question Fenris turned on her with a look that she hoped to never see again.

“Out,” he snarled, pointing to the door, his brands flaring bright as he did.

Nodding she all but ran to the door, pulling Hassrath with her. He resisted her for a moment, meeting Fenris’s eye thoughtfully before nodding to the elf and allowing Maraas’s insistence to pull him from the room.

“Hawke…”

“No.”

Fenris shook his head, collapsing into a chair next to her, his tattoos finally falling dark. Why had it never occurred to him? That anyone with even a modicum of the facts could work this out? Looking at her he saw she was digging in her heals and he sighed. Stubborn! And if he admitted it to himself one of the things that, when it wasn’t making his own life difficult he found endearing about her. Blinking, he realized that was why it never occurred to him, because he didn’t _want_ to consider it. Didn’t want to consider that his very existence might put her in danger and that he might have no choice but to leave. Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face because she suddenly leaned over and gently turned his face to hers. Laying her forehead to his, the end of her nose just touching his, she shot him a fierce look.

“No Fenris.”

“But…”

“No. You aren’t leaving, not so long as I draw breath.”

His arguments died on those ardently spoken words and the way her voice cracked at the end. His chest tightening until it was almost impossible to breathe he gazed uncertainly into her eyes and knew she meant it. When her lips pressed aggressively to his he was too weak to protest, too defenseless to do more than respond in kind and pull her into his lap where he could hold her tightly to him. They were still like that some minutes later when Isabella came in to find out what was going on.

“Oh Maker! I gave you your own room you know!”

When she got no response except for Fenris waving a halfheartedly dismissive hand at her she sighed heavily.

“Not in my bed and clean up after yourselves.” Turning to leave she paused to look back once more. “Dammit.”


	31. Chapter 31

Llomerryn, once a costal port mostly catering to the fishing trade for Antiva, Rivain and parts of the Free Marches became famous as the place where the greater of Thedas and the Qunari had signed for peace after a protracted war to reclaim the territories lost over generations to the dogma of the Qun. In the days before the war Llomerryn had been a peaceful place of no great importance with a poor but generally happy population. The location of this city, taking advantage of a natural port created by a deep bay and whose port came ready to repair damaged ships attracted the notice of Captain Morcant of the ship Black Dragon because as the elected leader of the newly organized Felicisima Armada Morcant needed someplace convenient to where his new fleet would be waging their underhanded raiding campaign against not only Qunari holdings in Thedas, but also in Seheron as well. He set about liberating the entire volcanic island from the Qun and once it was in their hands, the Armada had defended it with a will and intent to equal that of any religious zealot in warpaint. From this humble base Morcant had launched a successful campaign to completely disrupt all Qunari trade on the sea, even going so far as to raid coastal communities in Par Vollen.

Because of this, Llomerryn is still to this day a pirate port. Most of the Raiders of the Waking Sea use this city as their port of call and the city’s character has changed with it. Gone is the peaceful city of moderate size, in its place is a sprawling city that caters to nothing but piracy in all its glory. Name your vice, someone purveys it. Name your desire, someone sells it. Taverns outnumber the whorehouses and those outnumber the merchants. Though much of Thedas regards the city as vulgar and common some six thousand permanent residents, enough to rival the largest cities on all of Thedas, live generally good lives thanks to the coin and goods that the Raiders bring to their streets.

Hawke stood watching from the forecastle as the city loomed larger. Isabella stood next to her, drinking in the sight of a city well known to her. She’d grown up here, her father a well to do merchant who had very little use for his youngest child and only daughter. The second she had been old enough he had bartered her in marriage to the son of a fellow merchant with whom he had desired better ties. He’d gotten what he wanted, though Isabella had suffered for it. The man she’d been shackled to was over ten years her senior, an alcoholic and a bully with distinct ideas of what a wife’s place was. He only managed to keep his ship because his father saw to it and in Llomerryn money could buy you anything.

‘Including,’ Isabella mused, ‘An Antivan Crow.’

Glancing over her shoulder she regarded the young human Crow Vicenzo who stood off to Hawke’s left. When word had come that Belinus’s ships were at port in Llomerryn and that if they wanted to talk business they would have to come to him, Master Fantin had sent Vicenzo along to not only guard the life of Castillon, but to also be his eyes and ears since he would be unable to accompany them himself. He was still campaigning to gain support for Hawke’s cause inside the ranks of the Crows.

“He looks like Fantin.”

Hawke looked at Isabella then following her eye, realized that Isabella was right, he did resemble the Crow Master in everything but coloring.

“Wonder if he thinks like him,” Hawke mused, shrugging. He certainly was quiet and moved around the ship as quietly as ever Varric or Fenris did. Although he hadn’t said anything over the week it had taken to get here, Hawke got the distinct impression that Fenris didn’t much care for him. Hawke suspected it was as much because Fenris didn’t think much of Vicenzo’s Master as much as a personal dislike. Looking back at Isabella and changing the subject, Hawke cocked her head at the city. “You know this place?”

“Yes,” Isabella muttered shortly. “And no, I don’t want to discuss it.”

Hawke cocked an eyebrow at her friend as she turned and walked away. Usually nothing was off limits where Isabella was concerned. Looking back at the city, a pale haze of smoke and fog hanging over the buildings, she wondered why this one?

* * *

After some inquiries they found that Belinus was not on his galleon, the Diablo and was instead in town. Varric, betting that meant a brothel made more inquiries and eventually located him at what was apparently his favorite one – a hotel/brothel/bar that some enterprising individual had managed to convince the town governor to allow him to build. In Llomerryn standards it was huge, three separate buildings all connected by enclosed walkways and with a paved central courtyard for carriages to unload passengers. The exteriors were all very modest and the only indication of what might be going on inside were the patrons, one passed out, stripped naked and left with nothing, that were milling about the courtyard. They attracted some attention as they passed through, obviously not Raiders and obviously not local either by their dress and demeanors but no one so much as said boo, not with them well armed and certainly not when one of the armed men was a Kossith. Hassrath was not the first Tal-Vashoth through this port and his predecessors had made the kind of mark that lingered. Castillon suspected that this would work to their advantage, since gossip was like gold in this town and word of their arrival would spread like wildfire and was probably the reason that Isabella had refused to dock, instead dropping anchor and insisting that they use the rowboats to get to shore.

When they entered, Hawke deliberately did not scan the room though instinct told her she should. Instead she followed behind Castillon and his lead, knowing that Klaton, Varric, Fenris, Vicenzo and Hassrath would be watching all corners. The Antivan was wearing a mantel of cool confidence even though in his rich dress he stood out like a boil in this room full of cutthroats.  A lot of the din in the stuffy room died as they were noticed, making their way to the back where several tables had been pushed to the corner and probably ten men and three women sat. As Castillon approached a bull of a man sitting watching him curiously, a prostitute sitting curled in his lap one of the rough men in his circle stood and blocked his way.

“Please excuse the interruption,” Castillon ignored the man standing in his way, addressing Belinus directly. “I am….”

“Castillon,” Belinus nodded his voice as deep and imposing as his figure. “Yes I know you. You’re the one that has been poking about to see if I am in port.”

“Indeed,” Castillon tipped his head in agreement. “I wish to speak with you about a subject of great importance.”

“Whatever it is,” Belinus snorted, “Might be important to you but I could care less. We just got to port and we have sovereign to spend. Find someone else.”

“I’m afraid that might not be possible.”

“Look little man,” the man blocking Castillon interjected, a distinctly Fereldan accent to his voice, “The Captain said no. Time to go.”

Castillon sighed, apparently ready to give this up and try again later. Hawke, who had stood quietly, just behind Castillon observing everyone at the table, decided there was no time for ‘later.’ Reaching out she latched onto the finger that the man had pushed mockingly to Castillon’s shoulder and hyper-extending it back towards his wrist, watched as his first reaction was surprise, second pain and third dropping to his knees. Looking over him to where a table of surprised faces greeted her, she gritted her teeth and did not move as several stood to come to their comrade’s aid. Instead she looked at the long haired, mostly clean shaven man who commanded them.

“We do not have time for this, and frankly what we have proposed can conceivably earn you and your men more sovereign than you will know what to do with.”

Pushing the prostitute from his lap, Belinus stood and waved his men off. Looking Hawke over because he frankly hadn’t noticed her before, he cocked and eyebrow and pointed at the man at her feet.

“Please release my first.”

Letting go and stepping back, several things happened in a very quick succession. Belinus’s first, the pain down to a manageable roar now that she wasn’t forcing his finger back shot to his feet and drew with a dagger in his other hand. Standing behind her Fenris growled but Hawke was faster, having suspected that the Raider would not appreciate being put down in front of his cohorts. Hand ready, she snatched at a dagger of her own and had it in the man before he even had a chance. The look on his face as he again fell to his knees before her, dagger protruding from under his chin where it went up into his mouth was priceless but no one there really appreciated it until later. Looking back at Belinus, whose expression hadn’t changed though he cursed under his breath, Hawke grinned sweetly.

“It might be time for a new first if this is the best he can do.”

“He has other qualities that make him useful woman,” Belinus growled. “Qualities that I suspect you just silenced.”

“No,” Hawke shot a feral smirk at the pirate. “Not necessarily.” Looking down at the man and reaching out for her dagger, she shot a look at him as he flinched away. “Oh sit still and stop your whining. You’re going to live.” Yanking the dagger loose none to gently with one hand, she was already calling from the fade, gathering magic to heal the idiot that had threatened her life moments before. As the healing glow faded he found his feet and backed away with round eyes, wiping blood from his mouth on his shirtsleeve. Smile tightly first at him and then at Belinus, she bowed with a flourish.

“All fixed.”

Belinus blinked at the woman before him, every bit as small as he was large and after a moment, barked with laughter. Soon everyone standing about the table was following his lead, all except one woman who stood crossbow in hand though pointed to the floor. Hawke regarded her a moment, thinking her familiar and trying to lay a finger on it before Belinus, finally tamping down his amusement addressed her again.

“I would have the name of this woman of many talents.”

Hawke thought about that for a moment before replying.

“Marian Hawke,” she inclined her head graciously, “Apostate mage with roguish inclinations and Viscountess of Kirkwall, at your service.”

If the room was silent before, it went deathly still at her pronouncement. The only sound she heard was Castillon’s gasp and the squeak of leather as the men at her back prepared to draw their weapons. Belinus’s own expression didn’t change, the smile just shifted a little. Looking her over, taking in the well worn armor and lack of social graces that Hawke was presenting.

“You know,” he cocked his head at her thoughtfully, “Even if I believed that last bit you would have to be insane to announce that anywhere in this city without the entire of the Kirkwall City Guard at your back. What would keep anyone from holding you for ransom?” Waving a hand at her he continued, “Besides, the ruler in Kirkwall is a man, not a woman. The Guard Captain, now that’s a woman. A right bitch as well. Makes doing business there pretty hard.”

Hawke reached into a pouch hanging from her belt and tossed an ornate gold ring at Belinus.

“Oh it’s true,” she assured him as he snatched the ring out of the air and inspected the seal of the Viscount of Kirkwall embossed on it. “I’m sorry I haven’t been home to accept your kind invitations to tea, and I’ll be sure to give Aveline your warmest regards. The man in charge is my brother and he isn’t the Viscount, he is my regent.” Smiling sweetly she stepped forward and planted both hands on the table, leaning closer to Belinus. “And he’s not one of my biggest fans so they can ransom away. I do not think it would get them very far.”

Looking from the ring to Hawke, obviously thinking this over Belinus finally sat the ring on the table and returned to his chair, pulling it forward as he did.

“What exactly would a ruler from the Free Marches want with a pirate?”

Smiling Hawke also sat, directly across from him and completely ignoring everyone else.

“What indeed,” she intoned levelly.

* * *

Belinus sat in his quarters behind a huge ornate desk. The man he had stolen the ship out from under had very Orlesian tastes but Belinus hadn’t much cared what the furniture looked like so long as it served a function. Standing in his usual place slightly behind and off to the side was his first and sitting or standing on the other side of the desk were all of the people that had been at the tavern. All were attentive to the man who was their leader as he stared at the pocked and marked surface of the once elegant desk considering carefully what he had been told and what had been asked. Finally he looked up, staring at a woman with a crossbow slung across her shoulder thoughtfully a moment.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded.

“But Sir, I’m….”

Belinus stood so fast his chair skidded back into the wall and his first had no time to react. Snagging the man by the throat, Belinus slammed him against the same wall the chair struck so hard the smaller man’s ears rang. Squeezing just hard enough to make breathing hard, Belinus leaned in until their noses almost touched.

“I told you not to _speak_!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, sneering derisively. “You embarrassed not only yourself, but us all! _Especially_ me! When are you going to learn not to pick fights _you_ _can’t_ _win_!” He paused to watch as the man’s eyes bugged and he struggled not to grab at the hand cutting off his air, then let him go and poked a none to gentle finger into his forehead as he growled, “You’re lucky I need you because right now I want nothing more than to run you through.”

Dismissing the man from his thoughts as fast as he’d been moved to violence, Belinus turned and planting his hands on the top of the desk he leaned forward, looking to each of the captains of the ships flying his banner.

“I want you all to get out there and find out anything you can, any rumor, any idiotic seeming story and bring it all back to me.” Pausing to look down at the scarred desk, he sighed. “I want to know everything. If this woman is right, enough so she _could_ convince the Crows to her side, then I want to know exactly what I may step in.”

He watched as they all nodded. Satisfied he dismissed them all with a wave and glaring at his first as he scrambled to follow them, grabbed his chair and pulled it back to the desk where he sat regarding the woman who had not moved. She looked at him, the muscle along her jaw twitching and making the deep scar that ran along it dance. Sighing, he nodded and pointed to a chair.

“Okay Fereldan,” he growled, “Tell me about Kirkwall. I want to know everything you know about that woman.”

* * *

Hawke stood on the dock, watching as Varric endeavored to scramble down into the rowboat without anyone’s aide. Castillon and Klaton watched amused as he slipped and landed face first in Vicenzo’s lap. The elf, grabbing Varric’s collar, yanked the smaller man’s face out of his crotch and stood him on his feet with a look of distaste on his face. Turning she looked at Fenris and sighed.

“What do you think?”

“That those people are like a pack of wolves,” Fenris replied promptly. “While one is harrying your front, the others will be slipping up from behind.”

Hawke nodded, looking off down the dock arms crossed and lost in thought. Belinus had listened attentively, nothing showing on his face and promised to get back with her. Castillon seemed pleased, but Hawke wasn’t so sure. Fenris sighed as she promptly went silent and her eyes got that distant look that said she was back to living inside her own head. Looking out over the water to where Isabella’s ship lay hidden among the many anchored, he waited. Finally she looked back at him, a wry twist to her lips.

“Well,” she murmured before turning to climb down into the boat, “I guess it’s a good thing I have a wolf of my own to watch my back.”

Fenris grunted, letting that be his only response as he followed her. In the back of his head Master Fantin’s words rattled around and he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if the day came when he wasn’t there.

* * *

Isabella sat at the table in her quarters, looking out the windows that lined one wall of her cabin at Llomerryn and cursed to herself. This entire trip was turning into a trip down memory lane and not even close to in a good way. Last night her sleep had been interrupted several times with nightmares she had thought long banished. Now she saw that they were still there, hidden and waiting like rogue assassins, just waiting for the moment to strike. Adding insult to injury was Castillon, here, on _her_ ship dammit, poking his nose around like he was critiquing how she had kept the Siren’s Call since ‘stealing’ her from him and renaming her. Oh and how he had clucked and looked disapproving at that! Isabella well knew that most mariners frowned on renaming a ship, calling it ‘unlucky,’ but to her that was superstitious claptrap. Bane, what sort of name was that anyway? Who’s Bane, what’s Bane? Whatever! Siren’s Call had a ring that pleased Isabella and always had. Looking at the empty bottles on the table she realized she was just a little drunk.

When a polite knock sounded, she sighed.

“What?”

“They are back ma’am,” came the muffled reply through the door, the crewman obviously taking her at her word that she was to not be disturbed for anything less than the party’s return or a full on attack. Nodding to herself she decided she was not only drunk, she was tired.

“Tell Klaton he has the helm and I’m not to be disturbed!”

She didn’t get a response but then she hadn’t really expected one. Even if the crewman hadn’t heard her she knew that Klaton would understand when he was told she’d left orders to be left alone that meant he was in charge for the duration. He’d probably even understand part of the reason why damn him! After all these years he’d come to know her and her moods better than anyone. Why in all this time he hadn’t come clean and just told her he was Castillon’s half brother she still didn’t understand. Did he still think she would have him tossed over the rail? Not that she hadn’t considered it, way back in the day when she had discovered who he was because she had decided she wanted to know more about the one man who had chosen to stay when she’d taken the ship from Castillon. But if there was one thing Isabella understood it was the desire to get out from under something so she had allowed him to remain, keeping close tabs on him until he had proven his worth more times than she cared to count. Now there was no one she would trust more, not even Hawke. Not that she would ever tell him that.

Standing and holding the table a moment while her head adjusted to the new perspective, she made her way to her bunk, hidden out of the way in a corner of the room. Lying on top of the covers without stripping as she normally would, she closed her eyes and hoped the alcohol would keep her demons at bay so she could sleep it off.

* * *

Maraas stood at the rail watching as everyone climbed the net to reach the deck. She was not the least happy about having been left behind but Hassrath, in an uncharacteristic bought of authority had told her in no uncertain terms that she was not going. Too surprised to argue with him she remained, considering what Hawke had told her in an attempt to smooth the moment over. She’d said that when you know you are walking into a situation that had all the potential to turn ugly in a heartbeat, you don’t want to have to worry about protecting any more noncombatants than absolutely necessary.

“If I didn’t have to take Castillon, I wouldn’t be,” she’d said.

When the last of them had reached the deck, she looked at Hassrath a moment. Still a little miffed at him even if she did now understand why he had been so brusque with her she turned and walked away. Hassrath watched her go and sighed. Even if nothing showed on his face Fenris could see the Kossith was unhappy and unsure what to do if taking up his normal position as Maraas’s shadow was unwelcome. Tapping the larger man’s arm with his elbow, he cocked his head towards a sizeable clear section of the deck, reaching back to pull his sword as he did. Hassrath looked from Fenris to his sword and back before nodding. It had been too long since he had sparred with anyone and he would welcome the chance to learn more of this elf.

Hawke watched them over Castillon’s shoulder, having caught the cool reception that Maraas had presented. Nodding distractedly as Castillon wandered away, she looked past where the men were to the forecastle where Maraas stood ignoring them all, eyebrows drawn together thoughtfully. Looking around she snagged the first crewman she saw, sending him off on a mission. When Varric looked at her oddly she tipped her chin and shrugged. Varric followed her eye and nodded; you would have had to be deaf and blind to have missed the exchange before they had left. Figuring he had nothing better to do he followed behind her, both giving the longsword wielding men a wide berth. Leaning back against the rail next to where Maraas stood watching a big galleon make its way out of the bay, Hawke scrutinized her a moment, trying to get a feel for her mood.

“You know he was right.”

Maraas nodded.

“You also know that curt is just his way.”

Maraas sighed and looked at Hawke a moment before replying.

“I know but….”

Hawke watched as she struggled, trying to find the words in common tongue that she wanted. Hawke patted her arm to tell her she understood. Hawke had never asked but she suspected that Maraas was the drive behind their leaving their former lives, and she certainly was the one that had plotted out every move the two had made since. Being left behind just hadn’t set well. Sighing Maraas nodded and looked back out at the bay. Hawke shot a look at Varric who shrugged.

“Have you ever been shown anything about defending yourself?” Hawke asked lightly, knowing full well what the answer was going to be.

“No.”

“Well,” Hawke eyed one of Isabella’s crew as he approached, a goblet shaped drum under his arm. “Can you dance?”

Maraas turned a confused look at Hawke who just walked away to speak with the crewman. Maraas watched her a moment as she started unbuckling her cuirass while they spoke then looked at Varric. He had a smirk on his face but didn’t say anything, just found himself a place to sit out of the way. Looking back at Hawke who was removing her weapons and vambraces as well, she tried to work it out. Finally when she had stripped down to her jerkin and leaving her greaves, Hawke turned and nodded to the drummer.

“Well?” Hawke cocked her head. “Can you?”

Maraas nodded, eyeing the drummer as he started a simple rhythm on his doumbek.

“Well then you can defend yourself. Fighting is just a dance,” Hawke smiled. “A very martial dance, but a dance all the same.” Picking one of her fighting daggers out of the sheath on the deck, she proceeded to prove her point, going through her usual practice routine for one dagger slowed down to the beat of the drum behind her. Varric watched Maraas’s expression go from incredulity to doubt to interest and chuckled. _This_ was how Isabella had taught Hawke.


	32. Chapter 32

Varric stood in the deeper shadows on the deck, ones afforded by the clouds covering the moon this night, observing as Hassrath and Fenris stood in a companionable silence. Several of Isabella’s crew proficient with drums had gotten it into their minds to get together tonight to play and the two men were watching from across the deck as several others danced to the rhythms being produced. It had been two days since their ‘meeting’ with Belinus and still no word from the pirate captain. Looking at the Kossith, Varric mused that there was also apparently no word on reconciliation between the two Tal-Vashoth as well. She was spending most of her time with Hawke, soaking up everything she was teaching her and Hassrath seemed to find comfort in Fenris’s company.

 Looking at the two of them they couldn’t seem more different. Hassrath was tall, taller than most humans and sheathed in enough bulging muscle to give pause to most anyone. Varric’s shoulders only just cleared the man’s waist. Fenris, though tall by elven standards was only slightly taller than Hawke and compared to the Tal-Vashoth he stood next to looked positively petite in every way, only barely passing the other man’s shoulders and slender to Hassrath’s shear bulk. But that was, Varric knew only what the world saw. Spend any time at all in their company and those differences seemed inconsequential. The two men from two incredibly different backgrounds had arrived at the same place via completely different paths. Both were quiet, both were broody, both were at their heart warriors and both were trying to find their way in a world alien to them. Fenris had advantages – elves were not completely unusual in Thedas even if Fenris himself was with his tattoos and there had been people willing to hold out a hand. The two Tal-Vashoth and Hassrath in particular, were going to have to fight a never ending battle against their own unusualness because unlike Fenris they would never blend into any crowd. And unlike the Fog Warrior camp where, though at first it had been grudging, acceptance _had_ been there, Isabella’s crew was still, after all these months skittish of the Kossith man and kept a respectable distance and cool demeanor regarding him. It didn’t seem to bother him though Varric had to admit that he was unable to read the Kossith the same way that Fenris seemed capable.

Maraas, now she was a little easier. Though obviously intelligent and fast on her feet when new situations were thrown at her, she had a waifish innocence to her that, for all her unusual height and coloring endeared her to those around her. Constantly stopping to watch even the most mundane tasks being preformed and never failing to ask questions, it hadn’t taken long for her engaging smiles and easy charm to win over the crew and there were few that wouldn’t happily explain anything she asked. Even Castillon seemed to enjoy her company, and Varric knew Hawke rather liked her even if she wasn’t entirely sure about Hassrath. She was however willing to accept the warrior as part and parcel of Maraas and Fenris’s endorsement sure didn’t hurt. Even so Varric would catch her watching Hassrath out of the corner of her eye.

Sighing Varric turned on his heel and went in search of the Kossith woman. He was vaguely surprised when he found her in Isabella’s quarters. Isabella was probably the one exception to the rule of falling under Maraas’s spell. Her general wariness of anything smacking of Qunari after her experiences in Kirkwall spilled over even to the gentle giant of a woman. Neither woman noticed his arrival and the topic of conversation, though not surprising from Isabella stopped him in his tracks.

“Sooo… you’ve never just…”

“The Qun plainly states that sex is for… procreation? Nothing else,” Maraas explained patiently. “One does not just ‘do it’ for no good reason.”

“So,” Isabella cocked her head at Maraas, “Someone tells you it’s time and….” She struggled a moment to wrap her brain around what was a completely alien concept for her. “And then you just do the deed?”

Maraas nodded, a look of distaste passing across her face. Isabella’s eyebrows shot up a bit as she saw that.

“So I take it from that look,” Isabella smirked, “That it wasn’t much of an experience huh?”

Maraas blinked at the look on the dusky woman’s face, unsure what that was supposed to mean. Chuckling Isabella shook her head.

“So you and the big guy?”

“No.” Maraas looked at Isabella oddly.

“But you _do_ care about him, right?”

Maraas didn’t reply right away, her expression going guarded as she carefully considered her reply.

“Hassrath and I…. He was….” Dropping her head she shrugged.

“It’s a simple yes or no answer girl,” Isabella laughed lightly. “Either he means something to you or he doesn’t. The rest is twaddle.”

“Yes, he means something to me. He… helped me stay sane. My life was… restricting? He listened.” She paused a moment to think before finishing with, “He understood.”

Isabella sighed, having noticed Varric while the Kossith woman struggled to choose her words carefully but not saying anything. She just met his eye and cocked an eyebrow.

“Why then,” Varric decided to chime in since he had been seen, “Are you letting something so little get between the two of you?”

Maraas’s head swiveled to take in the dwarf in surprise, a flush rising as she realized this conversation hadn’t been as private as she had thought. Varric shrugged and wandered nonchalantly further into the room.

“If you’re waiting for an apology you will be waiting a long time. He was right and he knows it.”

“I know,” Maraas sighed. “I do not know…. I… do not know how.”

Isabella chuckled darkly, waving a hand at the blushing woman.

“No one knows how,” she interjected, “It isn’t an easy thing, saying you are wrong. But you do it.”

Maraas looked at Isabella thoughtfully but didn’t say anything. Isabella looked like she was about to say something when Hawke returned, having left a little before Varric’s arrival to go retrieve her Diamondback deck for her cabin. A little thankful for the interruption since the conversation had strayed into territory that wasn’t incredibly comfortable for her, Isabella threw her most winning smile at Varric, reaching out to run a finger down his chest.

“How would you like to help teach the novice here how to play?”

“Isabella,” Varric sighed dramatically, exaggerated for effect. “When are you going to stop ogling my chest and understand that it isn’t my fault the Ancestors bestowed such manly attributes?”

“When they come tell me to,” Isabella purred coltishly.

“So I should start praying?”

“I would think so, yes.”

Maraas just shook her head, convinced she would never understand this thing Hawke explained as flirting. These people made everything complicated, especially it would seem, the creation of the next generation.

* * *

Hassrath sighed, staring out over the forecastle rail and the lights of the city which he knew would burn brightly throughout the night. This place it would seem, rarely if ever slept. A condition he was coming to understand. For the last few nights he had not returned to the cabin, deciding if his presence offended then he would remove it as much as possible though it killed something inside him to do it. Finding himself without a job, without even a friend had been harder even than leaving his former life for this… disordered confusion of opposing ideals and mores that was Thedas. Sometimes he looked around and understood the Qun because there was some comfort in knowing one’s place in the grand scheme of things. This would last until he remembered how that narrow vision had chafed and now, staring out at the lights he wondered was there no happy medium? This made him think of the elf, who amazingly enough seemed to understand. They had never discussed it, conversations rarely about subjects other than their differing training, weapons or beliefs in armor, but this former slave seemed to understand his general discomfort in this world he found himself thrust into. Over the last few days especially he had made himself available, even if all they did was sit and drink what the crew laughingly called wine or ale in silence. More than once he had found himself thankful for Fenris’s presence.

The one exception to their unspoken agreement was when Hawke had started teaching Maraas simple self-defense tricks and basic use of daggers. Hassrath had left off their sparring that day to watch and something of what he had been thinking must have shown on his face because Fenris had clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, “She will still need you, trust me.” He’d just looked at the elf, not sure that he understood Maraas half so well as he seemed to think. For all her innocent curiosity and charm she was a strong, intelligent woman who knew precisely what she wanted and was not hesitant about going after it. If somewhere along the way she felt him to be an impediment he was sure she would leave him behind. Until now his role as her bodyguard was the one assurance he truly had of her continued need of his presence, especially after her choice of ‘name’ which these people had insisted on. He wished he knew how to make her understand that she was neither ‘nothing’ nor ‘alone,’ but expressing himself had never been something that had come easy to him.

Maraas watched Hassrath from the door to Isabella’s cabin and knew he was deep in thought and unhappy. She could see it even from a distance because the years had bred familiarity with the subtle ways he showed what he was thinking or feeling. The way he held his head, the line of his shoulders, even the way he stood with his back ramrod straight gave him away to her. The little ball of guilt she’d had sitting in the pit of her stomach suddenly grew, flowering into something that made breathing difficult. Somewhere along the way Hassrath had become something more important to her than just a friend but knowing this truth just made her pull away from it. She had come to be the administrator of the reeducation camp because there was a time when she had been one of those there to be reeducated. And it had been someone important to her, whom she had loved deeply, who had betrayed her to the Ben-Hassrath. That she had shown him enough trust to even speak of her unhappiness to him had been one of the largest hurdles she had ever overcome, this last little bit of trust, the kind that told someone they had the power to crush you completely was not something she had been able to bring herself to. When Isabella, having noticed that Maraas was still standing in her doorway and having left the game to see what she was doing, gave the Kossith a gentle push from behind, Maraas swallowed hard. The pirate was right and she knew it.

As she approached she knew he was aware of her, could see it in the way he doggedly kept his gaze away from her and the way he leaned against the rail. Anyone else he would have turned to confront, knowing that everyone they had met was immediately intimidated by his size and appearance and using that to his advantage. By not turning he was not only doing what he had been doing for days now in keeping his presence respectfully away from her, his casual stance told her he did not consider her any physical threat. Sighing and completely at a loss as to what to say she stepped up next to him and imitated his relaxed stance, elbows planted on the rail and watching the city lights. After a few minutes like this she finally reached out and laid her hand over one of his, watching out of the corner of her eye as he stiffened and looked down at her hand.

It was, he mused, so much smaller and more delicate than his own. No calluses from wielding a weapon, no veins that snaked along its back, fingers long and thin and very feminine, with ink stains now barely visible decorating the tips. He considered it for a long time before finally looking at her and was surprised to see her eyes bright with tears she was trying hard not to shed. Blinking at this uncharacteristic display of weakness, he forgot to keep his own thoughts off his face and before he could order his emotions she burst into tears, burying her face in her hands to try and hide it. Without stopping to consider the consequences Hassrath reached out and pulled her hands away, hooking her chin and making her look up when she went to bow her head. Studying her as his thumb traced a line across her cheek, trying to erase the tears that were still spilling he decided this was something he never wanted to see again. Slipping his hand around to cup the nape of her neck he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and sighing when her own arms slid around his waist. With her face buried in his chest as she finally just let loose with whatever demon it was that was torturing her soul, he allowed the pain seeing this caused him to color his expression and laying his cheek on her head, closed his eyes.

Even in the chaotic emotion of this moment, he couldn’t help but feel this was right the way she felt in his arms. Never before had there been cause for anything more intimate than her hand in his own or his on her shoulder and for Qunari this embrace signified something much greater than simple affection. That he had even attempted it was proof positive of his feelings for her and that she had accepted it, even reciprocated spoke volumes. This gesture, taken so lightly everywhere else, seen anywhere in the Qunari Empire would tell everyone witness to it that she was his and he was hers, heart and soul.

Varric looked up at Isabella from where they both stood in the doorway to her cabin.

“You think…”

Isabella shrugged, looking down at him. Varric sighed and was unsurprised when Hawke appeared behind Isabella, grabbing them both by the collars and pulling them back in the cabin.

“Get in here you nosy gossipmongers and leave them alone.”

* * *

Fenris sighed, standing leaned against the main mast watching as Hawke again paced. This habit of hers was one he did not understand. To him it was a waste of energy, a waste of time but when she was agitated, when her thoughts were chaotic this was how she dealt with it. He had seen days where she had done this to the point of exhaustion and never noticed just how tired she was until she was forced to sit, or better still, sleep. Some days, like today it would seem, nothing could snap her out of it _except_ for exhaustion.

“It’s been five days Castillon….”

“But you gave him much to think on Hawke, you must give him time.” Castillon looked at Fenris beseechingly, but the elf just cocked an eyebrow at him. Sighing he pointed at Llomerryn. “That is what you are asking him to risk Hawke, you are asking him to stick his neck way out to try and bring all that chaos together to try and make something orderly. There are no guarantees that one of those captains won’t just decide he wants what Belinus has.”

Hawke paused to regard Castillon a moment before returning to her pacing.

“I’m not asking him to risk any more than I am. What? Do you truly think that Kirkwall is just going to fall to the charms of her returning Viscount?” She snorted rudely. “Especially when she comes bearing the gifts of war? You think this is easy for me? I know the bards all insist that going home is bittersweet but for me the entire thought is a nightmare. The White Divine wants my head on a platter for things I didn’t do, if Aveline’s letters are to be believed she has already sent Seekers to the city. Carver and Cullen sent them away empty handed but you can rest assured that they are watching Kirkwall.”

“Then why,” Castillon asked mildly, “Are you insistent on returning yourself?”

Hawke stopped in her tracks, looking the merchant over and deciding if she was in for a copper she was in for a sovereign as well. Sighing, both men watched as she regarded the deck at her feet several moments.

“Because Knight Commander Cullen not only managed to hold the Kirkwall Circle of Magi together, he also helped Starkhaven rebuild their own. And they are both bursting at the seams with mages seeking refuge from this freedom that Anders forced down all our throats.” Turning a look at Fenris, who stood staring at her with a raised eyebrow being his only reaction, she shrugged. “Not every mage is looking to lord their power over those who have none. I’m not the only one that understands turning Thedas into Tevinter isn’t a sane alternative.”

“But Templars are rebelling against the Chantry,” Castillon argued, “Why would this one man rebel against his own order?”

“Because he knows they are _wrong_!” Hawke snapped harshly. “He knows that the mages are wrong as well. And do not think that because he preserved the Circle that means he bows to Val Royeaux, he doesn’t. Cullen has been tested, _sorely_ tested by both sides of this debate and has come out the other side believing in the _Circle_ , not Templars, not mages, not even the Divine. In the _Circle_ as Andraste set forth. He won’t see mages harmed for no reason and he won’t turn away like minded Templars either.”

“I think,” Castillon sighed, “I’m missing parts of this story.”

“Yes,” Hawke eyed him a moment before returning to her pacing. “You are.”

Her tone told him he wasn’t going to get more. Looking at Fenris as he watched her pace, an odd look on the elf’s face, Castillon sighed. He should be used to this by now, this not quite knowing everything. Fantin did it to him fairly often but still it grated.

* * *

 Fenris had finally had enough; this pacing had gone on all day. Either she was pacing or she was walking around the ship aimlessly but either way it amounted to the same thing and now that they were in their cabin it had finally worked his nerve. Taking her arm none too gently he pushed her into a chair and when she shot him a sour look, preparing to protest he pointed a finger at her and in a tone that invited no argument said “No.” Gaping at him as he sat in the other chair, taking up his fork to eat, she finally sighed. He was, as usual, right. Looking at her own plate she found she had no appetite at all despite all her nervous energy. She just so hated this _waiting_! Looking at Fenris and realizing that as much as the last few days had tested her, her reactions had been testing him, she reached out and laid her hand over his. Without pausing what he was doing he spread his fingers so that hers slipped between them and then curled around them. Doing her best to try and absorb his calm, she picked up her fork and started to eat, completely missing the self-satisfied look he shot out of the corner of his eye or the fleeting smirk that went with it.

* * *

When the invitation came, it came addressed to Castillon. Hawke watched impatiently as he read it - twice. Finally he sighed.

“It would seem that our Captain Belinus has been busy. He has, according to this, arranged a meeting with the more influential captains in the Raiders and requests that we are there to argue our case to them personally.”

“So,” Fenris sighed resignedly, “Now we will have a room full of cutthroats instead of just one. Charming.”

“Where exactly?” Vicenzo asked quietly from behind Castillon.

“The Diablo.”

Fenris shared a dubious look with Hassrath at that news. Hawke stared at the deck thoughtfully before looking at Varric. The dwarf shrugged, reaching back to run his finger along Bianca’s stalk.

“Fine,” she shot a hard look at the merchant. “But you make sure that man understands that if anything happens my final act will be to burn his ship down around his ears.”

Castillon chuckled darkly at that and nodded. Maraas laid her hand on his arm to get Castillon’s attention.

“When?”

“Tomorrow,” Castillon looked back at the parchment, “At noon. Well at least we have something to look forward to now.”

“Oh yes,” Hawke quipped lightly, “A pirate’s version of a tea party I’m sure. Wonder if he’ll have those little sandwiches. Maybe some Orlesian cheese?”

“If we are lucky,” Fenris murmured directly, “We will not be dining on our own innards.”

Smirking, Hawke tapped him on the shoulder with her fist.

“Or theirs.”

Fenris sighed. This woman was entirely too bold for her own good. She was he knew, going with her gut as she put it and well understood that this practice had gotten her into more situations than even she apparently cared to count. And yet she persisted. Watching as she and Castillon wandered off to go compose the reply they would send, he vaguely noticed when Hassrath came to stand at his side.

“Ataash varin kata.”

Fenris looked at the Kossith a moment, absorbing that thought.

“Na via lerno victoria.”

Hassrath tipped his head, granting that both sentiments fit. 

* * *

**_Just to stop the mad rush to Wiki here at the translations though if you don’t know Fenris’s shame on you!_ **

**_*Ataash varin kata – In the end lies glory_ **

**_*Na via lerno victoria – Only the living know victory_ **

* * *

Vicenzo insisted on being the first up the slip, Klaton following. What greeted them was a large group of men and women, all standing silent and staring at the group as they made their way to the deck. Although the galleon required a larger crew, Klaton knew that this was far more than could be accounted for. Fenris took the crowd in, noting that most if not all were armed. Belinus stood to the side with another man, fully a head and a half shorter but with grey streaking his braided beard. The larger man stepped forward and bowed with a mocking flourish.

“Welcome to the Diablo,” he intoned with exaggerated formality. “May I introduce Ingmar, captain of the Misty Seas.”

Ingmar shot the other captain an odd look, but decided to let the vaguely contemptuous greeting go. When Hawke stepped forward and gathering an imaginary skirt, curtsied with some practice, Ingmar decided this might be an interesting meeting after all.

“The pleasure I assure you is all mine,” Hawke dimpled sweetly at Ingmar before hardening her look as she turned her eye to Belinus. “Now that the bullshit is out of the way, can we get to business?”

Belinus threw back his head and laughed. If this woman was nothing else she _was_ entertaining!

“By all means,” he returned, “This way.”

Vicenzo sidled to Fenris’s side, lightly tapping his elbow to Fenris’s arm.

“You and that one,” he tipped his head to Hassrath, “Stay out here and guard the door.”

Fenris regarded the blonde man a moment, trying to find a flaw in the Crow’s suggestion but looking around at the gathering, decided there wasn’t one. As little as he liked allowing Hawke out of his sight, he rather liked the thought of turning his back to this bunch less. Nodding, he followed behind the group, Hassrath at his back and once the door was shut both men took up a stance on either side. Hassrath regarded the motley crew a moment before reaching back and pulling his ornate longsword. Without much ado, he stood it in front of him, hands on the pommel and ready to cut down anyone without business who came too close. Fenris chuckled under his breath and leaned a shoulder to the wall, his arms crossed. His own weapon wasn’t strictly necessary if it came to killing.

As hours past with nothing more than the occasional raised voice from the other side of the door, Hassrath watched as the assembled broke apart into smaller groups, each finding themselves a spot to sit or stand along the long deck. Once a boy not more than twelve had approached, several bottles tucked under his arms. Looking the Tal-Vashoth up and down and swallowing hard, he’d slipped between the two men and using his foot, rapped on the door until finally it cracked and he handed off his load to whoever had opened it. Retreating a little, the boy then stopped and studied both men a moment.

“Never seen one ah them up close,” he said to Fenris. “Him I get. What’s so special ‘bout you?”

Fenris raised a brow and shot an amused look at Hassrath. The bigger man was just looking at the boy like he was some sort of toad, asking that of anyone in full armor and carrying a weapon made no sense to him. But then with these people most things didn’t and he was coming to accept that. Turning a look at Fenris, he was a little surprised when he saw the elf stand away from the wall he’d been leaning against, his brands glowing.

“Nothing special about me,” he said ominously, “I’m just a ghost.”

The boy eyed the tattoos a moment, just a little wide-eyed but refusing to back away. Finally he looked at Fenris and said, “Bullshit.”

“Bullshit is it?” Fenris chuckled darkly. “Well then, explain to me this?”

Brands flaring bright, he reached out and pushed his hand through a barrel that stood close by, watching as the boy’s eyes grew until they threatened to pop right out of his head, then pulled back out. Holding his hand up in front of the boys face and tapping the pointed metal tips of his gauntlets together so that they made a sharp sound, he chuckled again as the boy backed several steps before turning and dashing away. Looking about as the entire deck had fallen silent at his display, he stepped back to lean against the wall, his tattoos falling dark. Glancing at Hassrath, who was looking at him like he wasn’t sure he _wasn’t_ a ghost, he shrugged.

“Shocking what having lyrium forced under your skin can do,” he quipped lightly. “Assuming of course you survive the process anyway.”

Eyeing the silvery lines on Fenris’s bicep a moment, Hassrath suppressed a shudder and mused that should the Qun ever take Tevinter there would be no one left standing if this was what they did with their time. Deciding that what had been done to him as a slave was not Fenris’s fault and that even as eerie as the sight had been the boy’s reaction was probably worth it, Hassrath allowed his mouth to curl up at the edges, showing his amusement. Yes, he decided as Fenris turned his attention back to the crowd now watching _him_ warily, this man was definitely Tal-Vashoth – more dangerous to the principles that created him than any hand wielding a weapon because his very existence proved those philosophies to be flawed in a most base way. Until this moment he hadn’t been sure, but now Hassrath decided he liked this elf, even if he was oddly magical and even if he sometimes made as little sense as the rest of them.

Many more hours had past and now the sun was hanging low on the horizon, casting shadows that danced as the ship bobbed in the waves that lapped at her side. Fenris cast a look out over Llomerryn and saw that dark clouds were rolling over the low peaks that lined the center of the island, standing guard over Llomerryn’s provinces. Somewhere out there he knew, hiding in the dark forests that skirted those peaks was a Dalish encampment, one that was as close to permanent as the Dalish ever got. He had only rarely had the opportunity to meet Dalish elves, but from what little experience he had with them he was generally unimpressed. They were, in his opinion clinging to a birthright long extinguished. History was, he knew, largely written by the victors but even so, to dedicate your lives to nothing more than a belief in preserving history in such a way… he didn’t understand it, didn’t trust it and wanted no part of it. History was just that – history. The past might have its charms but the present was more than enough for him to handle. And even _considering_ a future… well that still left him shaken at best.

It had been over a year now since Hawke had pulled him from his literal slavery, but even now he wasn’t sure that he’d escaped completely or that he ever would. A sharp word from her would stop him in his tracks as fast as it ever had coming from Danarius and though speaking his mind with her came easy he still found himself pulling away from subjects he knew would upset her. Afraid, he supposed of the consequences whatever they might be. Sometimes he wondered if he hadn’t traded one master for another. True her restraints were softer and he knew if he chose to he could walk away, but her chains bound him more firmly than he would have ever given credit and he doubted distance would make them less so. Looking to the Kossith that flanked the other side of the door, he saw that he too was watching the clouds hanging low, colored pink and red by the setting sun.

“Storm coming,” he grumbled with a sigh. Fenris nodded, agreeing with the sentiment the Tal-Vashoth managed to express in two simple words.


	33. Chapter 33

Varric sighed, long since having toned out the constant debate among the assembled captains. Hawke had told them everything, from having Hassrath very nearly literally falling into her lap to what they had seen in the waters off Seheron to what she had in mind. Castillon and Vicenzo both had assured them that signs of unrest in Tevinter were there, if you only knew where to look. More than a few of the men already had some of the pieces themselves, having noticed many of the same things in their own day to day business and more – a Tevinter military build-up in Seheron, the unexpected propensity of the Tevinter merchant ships to travel in packs making raiding them harder and more dangerous, the abrupt disappearance of the rare but until recent _there_ Qunari merchants from ports across Thedas, the sudden quiet from the Qunari settlements in the north of Rivain…. The list went on. Each in of themselves curious but nothing to raise more than eyebrows on their own, but taken as a whole…. It hadn’t taken long to convince them that there was indeed a problem, a large one looming on the horizon, but that was where the agreements had ended and soon fists as well as voices were being raised.

It was, for the most part anyway, bluster Varric knew. Before they left this room everyone knew that someone here would be in charge of the largest pirate fleet ever assembled, larger than even the first incarnation of the Felicisima Armada because now the Raiders were a larger force. They had learned hard lessons that were still rippling through the community here in Llomerryn, the most important being that though each captain was his own man, responsible for his own ship or ships flying his banner and responsible for his own squabbles with other captains, any exterior threat _could_ be and _should_ be met with a _unified_ _face_. Another being that sometimes there was more safety in numbers. Where before pirate ships had lived or died alone, now they understood that banding together and creating little fleets, each beholding to one man and each with a role to play _could_ work. That ultimately was the legacy of the Felicisima Armada and there was not a kingdom in all Thedas that didn’t regret it.

Looking around the room, lined along the walls sometimes in small groups were the first mates and whoever else each man had thought to bring. It was a good thing that this galleon came with a large captain’s quarters because at a quick count there were probably thirty men and woman stuffed into it. When his eye fell on a woman, light auburn hair tightly braided, well worn leather cuirass over leather leggings and crossbow on her back, Varric’s head tipped thoughtfully. He knew this face. Studying her as she watched the men of power in the room argue he realized he knew it without the scar that ran the length of her jaw. Coterie. She was, or had been at least, in the Coterie in Kirkwall. Last he’d seen of her she had been selling the leases of Javaris Tintop in Darktown and after the whole Qunari incident he had just assumed her dead. Now how had she come to be here? Glancing up at Klaton, Varric decided he wouldn’t notice if he wandered off. He was to intent on what was happening at the table. She saw him coming, had indeed wondered how long it would take him to finally stop staring and just come to her. As he leaned against the wall next to her, pretending interest in the conversation she looked at him silently.

“Been a while,” he tossed out in a neutral tone. “Thought the Qunari got you.”

“They did,” she returned in the same tone, raising a finger to her jaw to trace the scar. “They just didn’t manage to kill me is all.”

Varric watched and suppressed a shudder. The wound that left that scar must have gone straight to the bone of her jaw. Nodding, he looked at Hawke, sitting quietly next to Vicenzo at the table, watching with more patience than she’d had since arriving in Llomerryn.

 “Nice to see you made it Shrawn.” 

She grunted and shifted her stance some.

“Decided that Kirkwall wasn’t the place to be anymore, not with your Hawke there and her Ferelden friend in charge of the Guard putting the squeeze on anything not on the up and up.”

Varric shrugged. She let the subject drop. She knew that though Varric’s business dealings were mostly on the good side of things, he wasn’t above doing some deals in the dark and had nodding agreements with the Coterie. Sighing, she pointed at the repeating crossbow slung across his back.

“When you going to sell me that.”

“Never,” Varric didn’t even look up; the joke was an old one. “Bianca goes with me to the Ancestors or I’ll be back to haunt everyone.”

“Nice to know,” she chuckled, “Some things never change.”

Varric watched her out of the corner of his eye a moment as she turned her attention to the spectacle of Ingmar standing, slamming both hands down on the table to gain the silence he wanted.

“I say we vote!” He bellowed his sentiments, making Shrawn wince. Big as the room was, it wasn’t so large that it could contain this sound, especially when the table erupted into a perfect storm of raised voices behind it.

“It’s going to be a long night,” she quipped, shooting a look to the windows to see that the sun had set.

“A-yup,” Varric agreed.

* * *

In the end it had been Belinus who had come out on top of the verbal power struggle happening inside the cabin of his ship. It had been decided eventually that he had the most experience coordinating ships since he had more than anyone else flying his banner, and to a certain extent most of the pirates in the Raiders respected his abilities even if they cared little for the man himself. Even among cutthroats there were those that created unease. Sighing and rubbing his face with both hands, Varric knew that this was just the first hurdle. It was a big one granted, but now the real business needed to be addressed – now what? Just like that the tension in the room dissipated for the most part and those lining the walls could relax. More than a few looked like Varric felt. Sighing, Shrawn tapped the back of her hand against his shoulder to get his attention.

“Coffee?”

Varric’s eyes widened, a grateful look crossing his face. Coffee was something of a rarity in Thedas, a plant brought by the Qunari to Seheron from Par Vollen. The Tevinters had managed to steal it from them and had their own fields, but outside of those two places it was expensive and hard to get. Varric had never had it until he’d followed Hawke to Seheron and now he missed it mightily.

“You have some?”

Shrawn stood from the wall she’d leaned on for hours now, feeling the stiffness of holding position and stretching before nodding.

“Unlike your Isabella, Belinus has made a name for himself raiding Qunari ships. Tevinter coffee is good enough, but the stuff from Par Vollen?” She paused to roll her eyes up. “Way better.”

“Lead the way!” Varric chuckled with a gleeful darkness and rubbed his hands together. “I never turn away good ale, easy gold or coffee, who cares where it hails from!” Pausing when his stomach rumbled loud enough for Shrawn to hear, he looked at her sheepishly. “Or food. Food is good too.”

Shrawn nodded, looking about until she saw the ship’s supply master standing near the door. Telling Varric to stay put, she wandered his direction. After a short conversation with him, he nodded and they both disappeared from the room. It wasn’t long before men started arriving laying out breads, salted meats and cheese on the enormous desk that had been pushed unceremoniously out of the way for the table the captains now sat at mostly ignoring the activity in the corner. It wasn’t until three men came in, each holding a large urn of coffee that those at the table came to attention, each following the aroma to its source. Hawke, suddenly snapped out of the intense conversation like the rest, glanced at the door and saw two very interested men watching the comings and goings. Meeting Fenris’s eye, she shrugged to say that it was far from over.

Following the crowd to the desk she managed with Varric’s assistance to snag some of the food and stepped out of the room. The look that Hassrath got when after sniffing his wooden mug thoughtfully he took a sip of the hot coffee, bordering somewhere between disbelief and ecstasy had both Hawke and Varric laughing. Shooting a scowl at both of them, he took another sip and graced them all with one of his extremely rare smiles. Fenris took the plate and mug Hawke presented him and sat it on the barrel he’d used to frighten the upstart cabin-boy and pulled Hawke to the side. The deep lines around her mouth and eyes spoke to her weariness and looking past her to where pale grey light was starting to reveal the angry black clouds that had been rolling in overnight, he sighed.

“So this is going to take longer than anticipated?”

“Oh,” Hawke cocked her head, “I knew it would take some time. Those people are like a room full of toddlers with only one toy, everyone determined it belongs to them. But at least they finally agreed on who is to lead them.”

Fenris sighed, and reaching for a piece of what looked like salted ham, he very deliberately put it in Hawke’s hand, shooting her a very direct look as he did.

“Eat.”

Hawke cocked an eyebrow at him, an odd look on her face for a moment before shaking her head.

“Yes mother.”

Though it had been fleeting, Fenris caught the flash of pain that had colored her eyes and his eyebrows drew together when she turned away to go again into the breach that was this meeting of criminal minds. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen that.

* * *

By the time the dark clouds had started dropping a heavy, steady rain that soaked everything in sight word had gotten out and had raced along the streets of Llomerryn like a wildfire out of control that not even the downpour could contain – the Felicisima Armada was reborn! Even in the driving rain that had quickly soaked everyone on the deck more men and women had come. Some were captains that, having heard the news came to add their support, but most just people who wanted to be there for this small but important footnote in their history. For hours they had stood, on the deck, along the dock, some even standing on the roofs of the warehouses and crowding the decks of nearby ships to watch in silence, ignoring the rain, the wind-driven chill, and to a certain extent even each other.

The eyes of Llomerryn were on the Diablo.

When finally, late in the afternoon the door to the cabin had opened and out poured the assembled captains, a deep silence had fallen and all eyes were riveted to them. Looking out at the crowd with serious expressions each, the captains had after several moments pause, pulled their swords and holding them up, each voiced a wordless war-cry that every pirate knows. In that moment all knew that the Felicisima Armada was indeed going to war and swords were pulled and that same wordless war-cry was echoed back from the throats of hundreds. Indeed it took mere moments for this cry to start echoing in the streets as Llomerryn realized she was once again to be called upon to support her pirate benefactors in their martial endeavors and soon the bay echoed with the voices of thousands.

In this din of support, Hawke had emerged behind them, watching with a weary interest as the same men who had fought vehemently for hours on end now clapped each other’s shoulders and shook hands like they were best friends and closest brothers. Shaking her head and breathing deep of the air swept clean by the rain, trying to get the smell of more bodies than Belinus’s cabin had ever been prepared to hold from her nose, she didn’t protest when Fenris uncharacteristically took control of the situation. Wrapping a firm arm around her waist, he ordered Hassrath and Klaton to clear a path and Varric and Vicenzo to watch their backs. Even with the imposing visage of a Kossith warrior with his weapon drawn it had taken some time to work their way through the throng that was growing even as they made their escape from it. The rain was not going to dampen the kindling to this fire.

Castillon had come prepared and instead of trying to make for the boats for the Siren’s Call they made their way through the streets, following his direction until finally he stopped to pound on a door of one of the crowded stone buildings lining the street. The door immediately opened and they were ushered into the home of one of the more influential merchants of Llomerryn, a man that Castillon did more than a little business with and who he considered a fast friend. While Castillon gratefully greeted the man his wife was taking in the wet and exhausted group and sending servants scurrying in all directions.

 It wasn’t long before Hawke found herself in the hot waters of a cast iron bathtub. There were others she knew that were more chilled than she was but it had been so very long since she’d had an honest hot bath that she just couldn’t find the energy to get out and soon she was drowsing in the steam. Fenris watched from a chair sat in the corner, having sent the maid away, determined to see to Hawke himself. Once she had been in the tub, he had himself stripped out of his wet armor and now sat watching as she dozed lightly in only his leather leggings. Hawke was, he knew, not built for no sleep. She would do fine so long as something demanded her attention but once that tension was gone she was reduced to this and so he left her until the water had started to cool.

Rousing her gently, with a feather-light kiss to her temple and fingertips stroking along her jaw, he had taken up the washcloth and soap that the maid had left and silently washed her clean. Hawke, too tired to protest allowed it and soon she was standing trying not to swoon from her exhaustion as he wrapped her in several towels and completely ignoring the dress the lady of the house had sent as well as his own armor, swept her into his arms. Pulling the door open he looked at the maid who had remained outside in case her presence was required as her eyes widened, unsure what to be more shocked at – the woman in nothing but towels curled in the arms of a bare-chested man, elf or no, or the tattoos that ran the length of him, catching the dim light from the windows. Blinking and blushing when he had calmly asked where he was to take her, she lead him to a room overlooking the street and discreetly made her exit, only partially trying to not look as he laid his once again sleeping load on the bed as she closed the door. Once he had worked her out of the towels and under the covers, Fenris sat a moment, listening to the rain on the window and the distant din of celebration before stripping out of his leggings and lying next to her.

Studying her sleeping face that even now carried lines of fatigue, he was reminded of the last time he had seen her like this - the night Leto had been born. A time that was both the worst in recent memory and at the same time the first steps taken that had led them to this moment of tenderness and trust. Gently rolling her over to her side so that he could wrap his arms around her and curl himself to her back, he allowed his own weariness to claim him and in his unusually deep slumber, he dreamed of her.

* * *

There was, Fenris mused, music everywhere. 

Standing in a second floor salon, watching the street below as the baser parts of Llomerryn ran rampant in the night celebrating the impending war, Fenris looked at Hassrath with a jaundiced eye. Hassrath simply shook his head and turned from the window. No one should be happy knowing that people were going to die in his opinion and Fenris shared it. Fenris however also understood that it was this knowing death might be stalking them that had these people filling the alehouses. Turning his back to the window to lean against the sill to watch Hawke and Castillon as they made polite small talk, Fenris couldn’t help but notice Hawke seemed subdued. He had awakened to an empty bed, finding her instead standing at the window holding one of the heavy curtains in front of her should someone outside notice her, the cloth clutched in her hand as if it were the only thing keeping her steady and staring up at the dark predawn sky. When she had realized he was awake she’d immediately crawled back under the covers and wordlessly curled herself to him, her head on his chest like she needed to hear that his heart still beat inside. Not saying anything, he’d just wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair. After a few minutes she seemed to find her footing, and they had spent the next few hours until dawn either with her telling him about the different buccaneers she’d just had the pleasure of meeting or with them just laying together in a soothing, placid silence.

The quiet had been broken by a light discreet knock. One of the servants came in carrying Fenris’s armor and sword and the leather jerkin and breeches that Hawke had worn, as well as another with some clothes that obviously the lady of the house felt more appropriate. Fenris had eyed the Orlesian doublet and breeches skeptically, but in the end he gave in to Hawke’s amused insistence on the agreement that if he was to wear it so was she. The lady of the house obviously had a good eye because both sets of garments had fit relatively well and the dress she had chosen for Hawke, while a bit fancy for his taste did suit her. Looking down at the black silk he was encased in and trying not to squirm inside it, the only reason he hadn’t taken it all right back off had been the look he’d received when she saw him. Looking further down and grunting to himself, she’d even talked him into the boots. Sighing and wiggling his toes, he couldn’t help but wonder about this ability of hers. It wasn’t the first time he’d been dressed up like a child’s doll but before it had always been Danarius’s doing and he’d had no choice. This time he knew he could refuse but still found himself unable.

Hawke had spent a good portion of the day locked up in a room with Belinus, Castillon, Vicenzo and a woman that had been introduced as Shrawn, captain of one of the ships in Belinus’s little fleet. Somehow the pirate had known where they were and had shown up shortly after they had finished breakfast. When the occasionally charming but usually brusque man had finally left it had been decided that rather than have Hawke risk journeying to Kirkwall on the Siren’s Call, a ship known in the city to belong to one of the Champion’s former companions, she would instead board the Wolf of Rivain, Shrawn’s ship. Isabella would then leave for Kirkwall and arrive before them and carry letters from Hawke to Carver, Cullen and Aveline. The Wolf of Rivain would, baring anything unforeseen, arrive ten days behind the Siren’s Call. That had just left Hawke to sit and write the letters so that Isabella could be gone for Kirkwall as soon as possible, and Shrawn readying her ship for the short journey back to Antiva City to drop off Castillon and check in with Master Fantin.

Looking again out the window as a particularly noisy group passed below, Fenris mused at how fast things were moving. All these months cooped up on the Siren’s Call anticipating this had not really prepared him for it and now he found himself worrying, something totally alien to him. This was not his first rush to battle, indeed Danarius over the years had made a point of spending time in Seheron, even owned an estate there, just so that he could say as a magister he had done his civic duty and waged battle against the Qunari. But the only vested interest he’d had then had been keeping Danarius alive, he’d not cared much beyond that and in truth hadn’t much cared _about_ that either. It was just what he was expected to do and so he did it. Now? Now was different, his circumstances were different, and though he had no vested interest in assisting a Free Marches city-state save the world, she did. And so he worried.

* * *

Hawke laid watching Fenris sleep, unable to achieve the same peace. A deep tension lay in her gut and had been since she had wakened early in the morning. For some time she had laid there before finally crawling carefully from the bed to pace in silence. When some noise had drawn her to the window she had found herself doing something she hadn’t done in a long time – just staring at the stars. Quite often in Kirkwall, when she’d been unable to sleep from worrying she’d found herself doing this exact thing and for this exact reason as well. Something inside her had finally realized that she was going home and home meant a whole lot of things, most of them not pleasant and it was this unpleasantness that lay in her gut like a malignancy woken from its dormant stupor.

Regardless, she would board the Wolf of Rivain tomorrow and start the last leg of her long journey home. The costs to her were in the end inconsequential, it was the cost of hesitating that worried her most.

* * *

Dear Carver,

                I wish that I had time for all the platitudes and niceties that Mother always insisted these missives should start with but I am afraid I do not. When Varric delivers this to you I will be on a ship headed for Kirkwall. It is of the utmost importance that I speak to you, Knight-Commander Cullen and Aveline. Aveline has informed me of the presence of the Seekers in the city and I am sure they are still watching the comings and goings there. I will steal into Kirkwall hopefully without their notice. One thing about working for a year for a smuggler, you know your way quietly in and out of the city.

                Please know that my return to Kirkwall is not something I am doing lightly. I understand that I am putting a great many people at risk in doing it, but I believe that you will understand my reasons when you hear them. I am returning as Kirkwall’s Champion, not as her Viscount. Leadership of the city I will be more than happy to leave to you, and will see to that while I am there.

                                                                                                                                Regards,

                                                                                                                                Marian

* * *

Knight-Commander Cullen,

                It has been a long time has it not? I have missed our lively debates concerning the state of the Chantry as well as the Circles though I am not sure you do. Carver and Aveline have kept me apprised over the years of your success in holding the Gallows together through the mage rebellion and keeping peace in the city. That Sebastian turned to you when Starkhaven needed assistance rebuilding her own Circle of Magi was no surprise to me. I would have expected no less from you or him.

                Please know that as you read this I am on a ship bound for Kirkwall. I have news of some import and not just for Kirkwall. I would like to have the opportunity to plead my case and beg for your assistance in something of greater importance than even the mage rebellion. I hate to throw that down and then leave off without explanation but it is far too complicated a matter to try and write down comprehensibly. But trust me when I say that Kirkwall will need her Templars more in the days to come than she has in any recent memory.

                If you would please, these matters will also concern Starkhaven. Please ask that Sebastian come to Kirkwall to hear me out as well.

                                                                                                                                Warmest Regards,

                                                                                                                                Marian Hawke

* * *

Aveline,

                Well the shit has hit the fire again. I can almost hear you now, “When doesn’t it where Hawke is concerned?” This time it wasn’t my doing though. I am on my way to Kirkwall as you read this, will arrive sometime in the next few weeks and I need your help. Desperately. Again I can hear you inside my head, “What else is new?”

                I will be coming into the city quietly because I am sure the Seekers are still about. I will let you know when I arrive. We have a lot to catch up on don’t we?

                                                                                                                                Warmest Wishes,

                                                                                                                                Hawke


	34. Chapter 34

“Shit.”

Aveline stood leaned against her desk, armor polished to a shine as always, staring at the parchment in her hand. Reading the short missive again, she looked at Varric through her lashes wondering if the dwarf could be convinced to be more forthcoming than the short letter. Somehow she doubted it; the dwarf had always been devoted to his friend and story fodder, sometimes to the point it made her wonder. Sighing, she put it aside and crossing her arms, looked at Varric severely.

“Does Carver know?”

“Not yet,” Varric reached into his duster and pulled out another folded parchment, wax imprinted with the Viscount’s seal. “I came here first, figured to get a feel for the waters so to speak before I drop the rest of these little bombs on Kirkwall.”

“Rest?”

“Knight-Commander Cullen as well,” Varric replied, watching as that little bit of information made her eyebrow twitch upwards just slightly. Very little got past Aveline, not when it might concern her guards. It had taken some time for the City Guards and the Templars to come to an understanding as to whom exactly was responsible for what inside the city walls. Cullen’s ascension to Knight-Commander, practical from the standpoint of his experience and presence, had done a lot to help. With Hawke gone and Carver as regent Cullen had been more than happy to allow the former Templar to rule without much comment. Hawke’s return might just upset that balance that had been struck.

And that she was begging audience with Cullen… Aveline mused. They had never been fast friends because Hawke would never completely trust the Templar and he would never completely trust a mage. Why would she stick her neck out for a man that could possibly take off her head? Although she doubted Cullen would even consider turning her over to the Seekers knowing as he did that they were as wrong about what happened in the Gallows that day as were the mages, she knew the only reason he hadn’t locked her in the Circle was because of her status as Viscount. Sighing she reflected on just how complicated the days following Meredith’s death had truly been. And now with Hawke’s impending return, how complicated they were likely to be again.

“Alright,” she intoned wearily. “I will do what I can. But this had better be important Varric because otherwise she’s insane for returning here.”

“Oh well,” Varric smirked, waving a dismissive hand at the Guard Captain’s stern countenance. “You know Hawke.”

“Indeed, I do.”

* * *

“What?” Carver stared at the letter, blinking as if to clear his sight and change what he had just read. “She’s insane. Aveline….”

“I don’t know what she wants any more than you. Frankly your letter is longer and I had hoped she would be more forthcoming with you.”

“You,” Carver let the parchment drop to the top of his desk and leaned back in his chair, “Obviously don’t know her as well as I thought.”

Aveline waved a hand at the man she had watched grow into a fine ruler inside this office.

“Aveline, I am going to have to assume that something is _very_ wrong. Isabella assured me she was happy in Seheron and had no plans to return and from the letters that Rivaini pirate brought me from her I would say that was accurate. Hawke wouldn’t simply drop everything and run into a wasp’s nest for no reason.” Carver stopped, looking off into a distance greater than the walls of his office and Aveline let him muse. Finally he sighed and leaned his elbows into the desk, fingers steepled under his chin. “You say Varric brought this? And that the Siren’s Call is at dock?”

“And my guards have been noticing new faces in Lowtown. Enough to make it notable and a lot of them are elves.”

“Damn!” Carver stood and turned to look out the window behind his desk. “Crows. What in Maker’s name has she gotten herself into? And what is she about to drag us into as well?”

“She does,” Aveline remarked in a lighter tone than she felt, “Have a bit of a talent for that doesn’t she?”

Carver made a rude noise and turned to look at Aveline levelly.

“I won’t let her destroy this city again. Her insistence on protecting that abomination lover of hers nearly leveled this city and I will have Cullen lock her in the deepest cell in the Gallows before I will see that happen again.”

Sighing Aveline nodded, wishing not for the first time that Hawke had listened to reason all those years ago. Love was blind they say, and in Hawke’s case it was also deaf. She knew Carver was serious just as she knew Hawke would know this as well, had known it before she’d ever set foot off of Seheron. What was she up to? And why? Shooting a quick look out of the corner of her eye at the Regent, she wondered if Hawke understood just how serious.

“When should we approach the Knight-Commander?”

Carver raked his hand through his hair and looked about the room, considering his calendar for the day. It was full he knew, but he also knew that this could not wait.

“Now is as good a time as any. Where is Varric?”

“I sent him back to the docks. Doubt he went though. My guess? Hanged Man.”

“Fine,” Carver sighed as Aveline held out the final letter to him, “So long as he isn’t there. I think Cullen might do him damage if his letter is as cryptic as ours to get more information from him. They both might want to keep a low profile until Hawke gets here.”

Nodding, Aveline followed him from the room, waiting in the antechamber as he informed his unhappy seneschal that he would be unavailable for the rest of the day.

* * *

Carver sighed as he finished reading the correspondence that Cullen had handed him before giving it to Aveline. Looking at the man that was not only Knight-Commander of Kirkwall but also Carver’s fast friend, he could see that he was not happy. Not that he had expected him to dance a jig at the news of Hawke’s impending return. Cullen had nothing against Marian Hawke personally, but her status as an apostate had always rubbed the Templar wrong. At the time it had been expedient to bow to the popular wish that the Champion be made Viscount because that had been a time of extreme unrest in the city. She had never done anything to make him regret it, even studiously requesting input from the Templars when making decisions. Her sudden departure and the somewhat hasty change in power had once again tossed the city into turmoil, but Carver had risen to the challenge and soon established himself as a far better choice than Marian Hawke had been.

“Sebastian as well,” Aveline murmured as she finished, wondering at Hawke’s mentioning the Circles of both city-states. Looking at Carver she sighed. “Should I send for him?”

“I suppose so.”

“I will do it,” Cullen interrupted. “I have Templars leaving in the morning to report to the Circle there anyway. I can send word with them.”

Carver nodded, still trying to get a sense of what Cullen was thinking. Finally deciding that it was Aveline’s presence that kept the Knight-Commander’s tongue still, he dismissed her. She wasn’t entirely happy about it, but left to go find Donnic. When the door closed behind her, Carver turned to Cullen who shook his head sadly.

“She’s playing dangerous games Carver.”

“When isn’t she?” Carver shot back. “But she’s Hawke, for all her faults she usually has what she considers good reason.”

“Well,” Cullen fired back promptly but without much malice, “I am not entirely sure I trust her judgment. I don’t think I need remind you it has been flawed in the past.”

“No.”

“I will hear her out,” Cullen sighed. “She is a great many things, but I never once got the impression that she was anything but serious about her role as Champion. If she assures you she is coming as Champion, then I will hear her out.”

“That is all I ask,” Carver nodded. “She may be my blood, but…”

Cullen held up a hand to silence his friend, nodding that he understood. For all her faults, or maybe because of them, Cullen rather liked the apostate Viscountess. Or at the least respected her desire to do what was right. Sighing and looking out the window of his office, one that afforded a view of not only the Gallows courtyard but also the docks and the city beyond. Somehow he’d expected something to come crashing down. Kirkwall seemed to love drama and it had been quiet for far too long.

* * *

“So,” Isabella sat fingering the handle to her tankard, “How did old iron drawers take it?”

“About as expected,” Varric chuckled at Isabella’s description of Aveline, “Not entirely happy but willing to help. She insisted on being the one that delivered the last letters to Carver and Cullen. Said I should make myself scarce, like I didn’t already know that part. And at some point my business partner will probably be showing up. I sent him a note I was here. He’ll probably have things for me to sign, he always does.”

Maraas looked at Varric curiously.

“You have a business?”

“Eh, you could call it that.” Varric took a sip of his own drink, shrugging as he did. “Almost all dwarves do. It’s a family thing. I am the younger brother and never once expected to inherit the burden. But when my brother died I ended up with the whole shebang. I’m not the business type, or at least not like that anyway so I took on a partner with the skills I don’t have. He sees to the day to day, I get to do as I please and spend my cut and stay out of his way. Everyone is happy.”

Isabella chuckled but didn’t comment.

Maraas nodded, not really understanding but deciding that she wasn’t sure she wanted to delve into the finer points of dwarven birthrights. Just keeping the human part of Thedas in order in her head was enough. A companionable silence fell in the room and Maraas sighed. She missed Hassrath more at moments like this than she did any other time, but it had been decided that his presence on the Siren’s Call when it made port in Kirkwall might attract attention they didn’t really want at the moment. Since Shrawn’s caravel was too small to carry too many passengers, Maraas had stayed on the Siren’s Call. This was the longest the two had been apart in nearly a decade and Maraas found herself looking over her shoulder for him, expecting him to be there and having to remind herself that he wasn’t. She even missed the snoring.

Isabella watched not for the first time in the weeks since leaving Llomerryn as the Tal-Vashoth pined for her companion. Looking at Varric she cocked an eyebrow. Varric returned her look with one that spoke to his own dubiousness. Isabella, as likely as he to stick her nose into people’s business, had spent the voyage to Kirkwall with a plan in mind for the Kossith woman and Varric wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be part of it. Isabella shot him a stern look that plainly said he would either assist her or he would swim back to Seheron. Sighing he shrugged and Isabella knew she’d won.

Reaching out she laid a hand on Maraas’s.

“Maybe later we will go out and see some of the city,” she paused when Maraas’s eyes brightened. “We’ll have to go after dark though or we might have Aveline with her smalls in a twist.”

Nodding and smiling, Maraas looked at her own drink. She’d never had anything but wine before, this rum stuff that Isabella had introduced her to really was quite good.

* * *

“Varric,” Maraas murmured, her lips twisted in an exaggerated look of confusion. “I feel funny.”

“That,” Varric chuckled dryly, “Is because you are just a little drunk sweetheart. Isabella’s rum should come with a warning that says ‘sneaky!’ on the label.”

“Drunk?” Maraas’s eyes rounded. “I’ve never been drunk. The Qun frowns on drinking to excess.”

Varric chuckled and looked around, wondering how long Isabella was going to leave them standing here waiting. Maraas was starting to attract the sort of attention that made him a little nervous.

“Well enjoy it then but don’t make a habit out of it.”

Maraas blinked a few times to clear her vision, wondering why it felt like she was falling when she wasn’t, and looked around at the foyer. The three of them had played Diamondback for hours, drinking and enjoying themselves. Maraas, once she had gotten the hang of the game had become quite good at it and had won a fair share of the sovereign on the table. It was well past sunset when Isabella had suddenly announced that it was probably safe to venture from the ship to see Kirkwall. With both Isabella and Maraas wrapped in cloaks against the late fall chill, they had set out from the docks. Maraas was so busy just enjoying not being cooped up on a ship that she really hadn’t been paying close attention to Isabella, who had made a point to stop and point things out.

As they made their way through the sometimes narrow and winding streets, Maraas lost all sense of direction and had blearily hoped that they weren’t lost. Finally the chill began to eat through the warm cloak she had on and when she complained such, Isabella told her she knew just the place to go to get warmed up. It was, she assured the Kossith, close by. Now standing in the entrance, listening to all the voices coming through the doorway, she peered through it curiously. Before she had time to register some of the things she saw, Isabella returned, a huge smile on her face.

“Come on,” she gestured before reaching out to take Maraas’s hand and pulling her through the door. “We’re going upstairs.”

Varric sighed and followed the two women into the Blooming Rose.

* * *

Varric sat quietly in a chair that was far too tall for him in the hall outside the room Isabella had ushered Maraas into. She had argued, quite vehemently in fact, that no woman should ever get the sort of look Maraas had when sex was mentioned. When he had refused to be party to what Isabella had in mind she had been fast to use the same methods on him that he had on more than one occasion used against her – blackmail. And now here he was, waiting patiently and trying hard to ignore the sounds he could hear and the looks he was getting, vowing that Isabella would never again have anything to hold over his head. It had to be getting near dawn and he wondered absently if he should knock. No, he decided, whatever was going on in there was not something he wanted burned into his brain. Just knowing it had happened _at_ _all_ was enough. He just knew he was never going to look at Maraas in quite the same way again.

Suddenly the door swung open and he looked up to see Isabella strut out, the expression on her face very much the cat that ate the songbird. One eyebrow rising, he blinked at her. When Maraas followed her out, a slightly shell-shocked and definitely dreamy look on her still alcohol flushed face the eyebrow crawled higher and his mouth bowed. Before he had the chance to say anything though a big bull of a man came through the door behind them and sliding his arms around both women, he pulled Maraas to him to plant a deep lingering kiss while his other hand slid expertly down the front of Isabella’s dress to fondle her breast. Choking back whatever it was he’d been about to say, Varric decided this was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to see and slid from the chair. Isabella had better be glad he loved her because otherwise he’d never forgive her for using his own underhanded tricks against him. As he headed for the stairs a deep voice followed him.

“You two can come see me anytime.”

* * *

“Varric is amazingly enough, taking my advice,” Aveline told Carver lightly. “Except for a trip to the Blooming Rose with what I can only assume was Isabella and a tall woman in cloaks, they haven’t left the ship in two days. And the only report I have of anyone going to the ship is Varric’s business partner, which isn’t any surprise.”

“Well thank the Maker for small things,” Carver sighed and looked around the library of the Amell estate, something else that Hawke had given over to him when she’d left. Taking a sip from his glass, he looked at Donnic, Aveline’s husband. “What do you make of this cloak and dagger melodrama?”

“Well it’s not Hawke’s usual style,” Donnic replied evenly. “I seem to remember her as more of a mow through kind of girl.”

Carver chuckled at the man’s assessment of his sister. Yes, that was as good a way as any to describe her. Not, he mused, that she was incapable of plotting her moves ahead. He knew she could. He had over the years, lost more than a few games of chess to her because she had always been able to look at the board and know exactly what she was going to do in any situation that could arise. It had always annoyed him but their father had insisted that all his children learn, saying there was no better way to learn how to plot strategy. Once he had died though, the games had become fewer until once they fled to Kirkwall, they had ceased altogether.

‘Father dying,’ Carver thought to himself, ‘Changed a lot of things, especially between Hawke and I.’

Now, looking back and seeing things from a better perspective he knew that a lot of the things Hawke had done that had annoyed him had done so because he’d wished it had been him. Father loved all his children equally but both Hawke and Bethany had taken so much more of his attention once they had started showing signs of magic and deep inside Carver had hated it. Hated that they had this connection with him that he didn’t. He couldn’t take that resentment out on Bethany, she was his twin and in a lot of things his partner in crime so that left Hawke. And she had made it so easy sometimes….

“I had thought she would stay in Seheron,” Donnic mused. “Her letters always seemed to indicate she loved it there with her Fog Warriors.”

Snapped out of his reverie Carver sighed. So had he.

* * *

Hawke stood impassive along the forecastle rail, ignoring the rough gait of the Wolf of Rivain as she made her way through the choppy seas. The sky was dark with low lying clouds that promised rain or possibly snow considering the temperature. Kirkwall, she mused, was greeting her with the same enthusiasm that she felt. Beside her Fenris stood, eyes missing nothing as he scanned the high cliffs of the large islands that protected the entrance to the harbor. High above them there could be seen a stone building, seemingly part of the rocky cliff-face it perched atop like some bird of prey scanning the waters below for its next meal. Fenris recognized the work of mages for no one else would dare build so close to so perilous a drop. Hawke glanced up, following his eye and sighed.

“The Gallows,” she turned her eyes away quickly, “The Kirkwall Circle of Magi.”

Fenris nodded and couldn’t help but think that this was a perfect place for it. The separation from the city proper would forever be a reminder to both mages and Templars that mages had limited influence in the world beyond the walls of the Circle that was their home. Turning his eyes back as the ship began clearing the last of the rocky outcroppings along the island’s coast, he got his first look at Kirkwall. Blinking as he took it in, from the city perched like the Gallows atop the high cliffs to the bridges that connected the different parts of the city which sat atop both side of an arrow straight canyon cut into exposed bedrock, to the enormous statues he knew to be lamenting slaves flanking the entrance of the canyon and attached to the Gallows by huge chains from the collars about their throats, he mused that the Gallows were not the only things here that smacked of magic. The whole of Kirkwall bowed to the Tevinter Magisters that had created her. Looking at Hawke, he wondered if she ever considered this fact about her home.

“Kirkwall,” Hawke sighed, eyes scanning the city far above them, “The City of Chains.” The irony of that title was not lost on her for this city had its chains wrapped around her, still firm after all these years. “Could also be called the City of Mines, but it doesn’t have the same ring I suppose.”

Fenris heard the crack in her voice over the wind and reached out to take her hand. He knew she was unsure of her welcome here and knew that she worried more about Kirkwall than she ever had about approaching anything else in this grand excursion they were on. If ever Hawke could be said to have an achilles heel, this was it. Her hand slipped gratefully into his and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she squared her shoulders. As they passed between the statues that guarded the entrance to Kirkwall’s harbor Hawke did so with her chin up, even if inside she felt like hiding.

Once they had cleared the canyon and entered the wide, open harbor Shrawn had wasted no time dropping anchor as close as she could. Everyone knew she would not be allowed to dock for hours at best, days at worst considering the number of other vessels also at anchor waiting their turn. Dropping one of the two rowboats belonging to the Wolf of Rivain, she wished Hawke godspeed, promising to send word once she was at dock. Hawke, swallowing her unease, climbed to the boat with Fenris, Master Fantin, and Vicenzo. The Crow master had insisted on his presence in Kirkwall, telling them that he had managed to gain the support of the Guild Master as well as that of many of his brothers and sisters in the order. Orders had gone out before even the Felicisima Armada had been reborn and already Crows were assembling, not just inside the city but also in her provinces as well. Once they had gained the docks of a warehouse that Varric owned, Fantin and his son had disappeared through the doors and into the crowd. Sighing, Hawke turned to Fenris.

“This is as far as you go.” When he cocked his head, an eyebrow crawling slowly up she knew he was going to argue. Had known it from the moment she had made this decision. “I can’t ask you to go where I am going Fenris.”

That made him pause. They hadn’t discussed it but he had assumed she was going to her family estate, the one she had told him so much about and seemed to hold so fondly.

“Where precisely do you intend to go?”

Hawke sighed.

“The Gallows.”

Fenris pulled up, surprised. He knew her views on the Circles, knew that she had grown up dreading even the thought of the inside of one. Why was she now prepared to throw herself into one?

“I can’t think of any better way to show Knight-Commander Cullen that I am serious, that this is a very real threat than to simply put myself into his hands.” Sighing she raked her hands through her hair. “Technically even as Viscount he could have taken me. I could have just as easily ruled from the Gallows as the Keep and we both knew it. But he didn’t. I’m going to trust that he won’t do it now but it has been a long time. He might have a different thought on the situation now. I don’t know. And I can’t ask you to take that risk with me Fenris, I just can’t.”

Fenris looked out over the harbor a long time as he ordered his thoughts and framed his response. How very like her, to be willing to throw herself into the fire but unwilling to risk anyone else to it. Finally he looked back at her, seeing the stoic expression on her face for what it really was. Hawke was scared, scared of a great many things he still did not fully understand but that would not stop him from trying.

“Am I not a free man Hawke?” he asked with a lighter tone than he felt, reaching out to slip both hands into her hair and pull her to him until their foreheads touched. “Am I not free to choose my own path? I may not necessarily believe that Tevinter is worth saving but I believe in you and I freely chose to follow you. I will follow you wherever this takes you and you will not face anything alone. Not so long as I draw breath.” Pausing to take in the tears that suddenly made her eyes shine in the grey light of the early evening, he smiled. “This I promise you.”

Hawke swallowed hard at the lump that clogged her throat and nodded, realizing now that she had been insane to think she would talk him out of coming. Stepping forward she laid her head on his shoulder and just let herself feel his strength, not only physical but also psychological as his arms wrapped around her. This man was, she suddenly realized her greatest asset and not simply because of his lyrium fueled abilities, but because of his own innate intuitiveness which meant that he knew her. Even if he didn’t know everything about her, even if she still occasionally surprised him, he still knew her. Probably better than _she_ knew herself. Probably better than he knew _himself_. Reaching up to pull the deep hood of his rough cloak over his head, she nodded and hiding her own countenance under a hood of her own, led the way.


	35. Chapter 35

Fenris eyed the darkness beyond the cone of light that spilled through the opening Hawke had ushered him down warily. It was the profound darkness that could only be achieved in the deep spaces of the earth and it wasn’t something he had experience with. Keeping an ear cocked to it, he helped Hawke stand steady on the ladder as she pulled the cover over the light, dropping them both into the throes of this intense night. Immediately uncomfortable with not being able to see he let his brands flare, casting an eerie pulsing glow that did little to illuminate their surroundings. Hawke immediately began casting about until she found the torches she knew would be somewhere close by and drawing lightly from the fade, touched a finger to the kindling. The torch caught and handing it to Fenris, she lit another.

“Used to be part of a mine until a cave in cut them off,” she explained at his dubious look. “Smugglers found them and used them to sneak lyrium into the Gallows. Course back in the day, mages found them as well and used them to escape the Circle. When I was Viscount I made sure that Cullen knew about them so we could try and stop the smuggling.”

“So these are likely to be guarded?”

“Yes.”

Fenris sighed and nodded. His first experience with Kirkwall had left much to be desired. Darktown as she had called it, making use of the sewers as it did was not a place that polite society was likely to admit even existed. In those dark tunnels the destitute and the desperate existed out of sight and as likely out of mind of those in power. Now smugglers caves? He knew she had worked for a smuggler in exchange for getting her and her family into the city, had she been involved in smuggling lyrium? He refrained from asking since the darkness was accompanied by a concentrated silence and he knew that voices would carry a long distance in it. Following behind her he wondered not for the first time about her experiences here in Kirkwall. They had occasionally talked of it, her telling him stories of her exploits but he got the impression that a great deal was still left unspoken.

Fenris lost complete track of time in these dark tunnels and it was hard to say how long they had been down there. On several occasions they had been forced to backtrack as Hawke, not incredibly experienced with these caves to begin with and time having dimmed even that memory, found herself staring at dead ends. So when they discovered a series of steps leading up, Hawke nodded and squared her shoulders before taking them. They were close. At the top of the stares she found herself looking at a door that she did not remember, one with the Templar coat of arms cut clearly into the wood. This, she mused, was new. Cullen must have done it to prevent uninvited guests. Trying the latch she found it was locked. Sighing, she reached under her cloak to pull out some lockpicking tools that Varric had given her, hoping that her meager skills would be enough.

She hadn’t more than started trying when the door suddenly flew open and unbalanced she fell through the doorway at the feet of a Templar. When Fenris stepped forward, framing himself in the doorway, the surprised Templar backed away and sensing magic about them fired off a Silence spell. Hawke, who had been climbing to her feet, went immediately back to her knees, the spell taking the strength right out of her as she felt her connection to the Fade die. The spell passed right over Fenris without effect and seeing Hawke go down he immediately went for the Templar. Brands flaring, he was on the man before he could react, first cuffing the man’s ears, and then knocking his feet from beneath him. Once the winded Templar was on the ground, he grabbed his throat in a vice-grip, holding the man to the floor as he leaned over him, snarling savagely as he stripped him of his weapon and threw it to the corner.

“Fenris!” Hawke managed to gasp. “Don’t hurt him.”

“I can hurt him all I want,” Fenris sneered, not taking his eyes from the struggling Templar, “So long as I don’t kill him.” Leaning down until his nose nearly touched the man’s, watching as his eyes widened as he did Fenris spat, “You should wear a gorget. When you wear heavy armor, you wear a gorget. If you were wearing a gorget, I would not be able to do this.” Squeezing tighter on the man’s throat, Fenris shook his head. “Sloppy.”

“Yes, but Cullen is going to frown on you damaging his Templars, even the sloppy ones,” Hawke quipped tightly as she struggled to come to terms with how she was feeling. As many times as she had over the years wished she had been born without magic, had been ‘normal,’ she found the way she felt right now at best disturbing, at worst nauseating and had to push her way past it to deal with the situation. “And that won’t put him in any mood to listen.”

Tsking contemptuously at the Templar and wishing he could bang his head off the floor a few times just because he offended him, Fenris saw the logic in what she was saying. Releasing the man he stepped away but laid his hand to the hilt of his sword, just in case. The Templar, gasping and coughing crawled to his feet, eyeing the both of them suspiciously. Before he had a chance to get his air back, Hawke threw a pouch at his feet. Pointing to it and trying not to wretch, she finally managed to get to her feet.

“Take that to Knight-Commander Cullen. Tell him,” she paused, looking the Templar over. “Tell him Marian respectfully requests an audience.”

Bending over carefully, he snatched the bag and watching Fenris warily he bolted up the stairs on the opposite side of the room. The clang and scrape of his armor echoed down long after he was lost from sight. Sighing, Hawke let herself fall back to the floor, holding her stomach and wondering just how long the spell would last. As she concentrated on breathing, she felt Fenris’s hand on the back of her neck and looked up to find him kneeling next to her, his concern plainly written on his face.

“One of the reasons Templars drink lyrium, it gives them the ability to nullify magic spells or better still, temporarily disrupt a mage’s connection to the Fade,” she explained quietly. “Never had it done to me before and I have to say it reminds me of the aftermath if Isabella’s rum.” Fenris chuckled, rubbing her back as she breathed. “I think I can safely put this on my list of things to never do again.”

Leaning forward to brush his lips across her temple, he whispered, “Hopefully there will never be a reason for it.”

“Truly,” Hawke nodded, “But in his defense we did startle him.”

Fenris grunted, not quite as willing as Hawk to give quarter.

* * *

Maraas stared out off into the night. She knew the Wolf of Rivain was out there, Klaton had told her that this Captain Shrawn’s ship was at anchor in the harbor. The last week she had spent most of her time in her cabin, at first trying to survive the aftereffects of a night drinking far too much rum and later trying to figure out just how to feel about what had happened. Not wanting to deal with Isabella, she had decided hiding in her room was her best option. Now she just wished she could go to Hassrath. He had always been her calm in the storm and right now she needed some calm. So thoroughly wrapped in her own thoughts she never noticed Isabella’s approach, never saw her pause behind her and cock her head thoughtfully and when she spoke, Maraas just about jumped out of her skin.

“The one with the lights bow and aft?” she said, stepping forward to stand next to Maraas. “The one with the lateen rigging? That’s the Wolf of Rivain.”

Maraas sighed and debated walking away, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“Lateen?”

Isabella chuckled.

“The triangular sails at the rear. Back about half way.”

Maraas nodded as she picked out the ship in the darkness and an uncomfortable silence fell. Isabella looked at the Kossith woman from out of the corner of her eye but wasn’t able to read much. When she chose to Maraas could be just as inscrutable as Hassrath. Sighing, she just decided to out with it.

“Are you okay?”

“Okay?”

“All right. You seem out of sort.”

Maraas looked at her a moment, trying to decide if she was joking or not.

“I have no idea why you would think that.”

“Because,” Isabella muttered, “You’re too damn quiet. You’re never quiet. Always asking questions, even when….”

“Well what do you expect?” Maraas interrupted, kept her tone level. “You got me drunk and…” she struggled for the words, but couldn’t find them. “I cannot even use Qunari words because we don’t have words for this.”

“Maraas,” Isabella sighed, “How much do you remember?”

“A great deal.”

“Well then, you need to ask _yourself_ a question. It’s a simple one, kind of like whether Hassrath means anything to you, a yes and no question. The rest, like I said then, is twaddle.” Shifting her stance so that she leaned with one elbow to the rail, she looked at Maraas seriously. “Did you or did you not enjoy it. The rest is just good old morality, most of which is forced down our throats by so called holy people. Sex is not ‘strictly for procreation’ and it’s not something secret or dirty. It’s…” Isabella struggled for a moment, before sighing. “It’s the closest we mortals will ever get to the divine, this side of dying. Most people aren’t like me, I do it because I can, because I want to and _no_ _one_ can tell me not to. Maybe that’s a fault of mine, I don’t know and I don’t care. Most people find that one someone they care about and sex is… I donno, the ultimate expression of trust? Of love? There is nothing _dirty_ about that.”

Maraas looked away, studying the outline of the Wolf of Rivain, silently considering what Isabella had just said.

“Why?”

“What? Did I take you to the Blooming Rose?” When Maraas nodded, Isabella studied the deck a moment. “Because of the look you got when you were explaining the Qunari ideas on sex. No one should feel that way about it. It shouldn’t be something you dread, it should be something you embrace. It should make you feel good, and not just physically although that’s not something to sneer at. It should make you feel like you are the most important thing in the world to the person you are with. And I suppose if they are then it’s all the better.” Pausing Isabella turned to lean both elbows to the rail and look out over the darkened port. “I think somewhere deep inside I loved every man and woman I have ever slept with, at least for that one night. Some maybe for longer but that is neither here nor there. And sad as this might sound, that’s always been enough for me. The idea of handing over my heart… well it scares the shit out of me.”

Maraas looked at Isabella, studying the sad expression as she gazed out over the ships at anchor and thought how very much she understood that. Hassrath hadn’t brought up what had happened that night all those weeks ago in Llomerryn and she had been too afraid to broach the subject herself. Looking at Isabella, she decided maybe she should.

“Yes.”

Isabella looked at Maraas a moment, studying the Tal-Vashoth’s profile and trying to figure out what she meant. When she didn’t reply Maraas finally looked at her, meeting her eye boldly.

“Yes, I enjoyed it.”

Isabella’s lips quirked up, but she resisted the urge to smirk.

“And no, I’m not going back there.”

Holding up her hands in mock surrender she chuckled and smiled an honest smile that had no ulterior motives. Looking back at the Wolf of Rivain, she couldn’t help getting in one last remark though.

“Now you just have to convince the big guy to do things your way.”

Maraas snorted, a tactic she had seen all of these people use and smiled when Isabella threw back her head and laughed at her.

“Isabella, you need to understand something. Qunari do not need sex to express how we feel. We do it with a look, a touch, both something very personal to us.”

“But,” Isabella remarked lightly, “You are not Qunari.”

Maraas stared at Isabella a moment, absorbing that and realizing she was right. And she was wrong because in declaring herself Tal-Vashoth she had declared herself the light that had to exist inside the dark in order for the dark to have meaning. Without Tal-Vashoth, indeed without kabethari outsiders the Qun ceased to have some of its more significant meaning. So in a very real sense, she would forever be Qunari. Being Tal-Vashoth just gave her the freedom to flaunt the tenets should she so choose. Nodding she looked back out into the dark, wondering to herself if this was one of those tenets.

Neither woman noticed Klaton standing in the shadows behind them until he cleared his throat. Both women jumped and swung around to stare at him, both women wondered just how much he had heard, though for differing reasons. Stepping to Isabella, he handed her the note that had been delivered for her and kept a completely neutral look on his face. Sighing because that look told her he’d heard far more than she was comfortable with, Isabella unfolded and read the short missive. Blinking at it, she pushed past Klaton and ran down the forecastle steps, yelling for Varric as she went.

Klaton watched Isabella disappear below deck, one eyebrow cocked high and wondered if he should follow. Deciding that no, waiting for her to tell him would probably be wiser he looked at Maraas and shrugged. Maraas shook her head, and turned back to look at the Wolf of Rivain. Klaton sighed. He knew what had happened. Little to nothing concerning his crew, including his captain went unnoticed by the first in command, and he wondered what was going through her head. Stepping up to the rail next to her, he joined her in her silent contemplation of the harbor, though for different reason. While she silently missed her companion, he silently considered what he had heard.

* * *

They didn’t have long to wait. Thankfully it was long enough for the worst of the effects of the spell to wear off. When the sound of metal against metal sounded down the stairs, Fenris went to stand but Hawke grabbed his arm, shaking her head wordlessly. Not liking this submissive posture in the least but accepting that she knew this man better than he, he acquiesced. Watching as Templar after Templar poured down the stairs, each with their weapons drawn and followed by a tall blonde man with sharp eyes dressed simply in black breeches and a grey shirt, Fenris gritted his teeth and so did Hawke. Cullen studied the picture the two presented, knelt on the floor, both meeting his eye boldly. The years had been kind to Hawke. Her complexion was darker, she possibly had a heavier dusting of freckles than he remembered, but otherwise she looked remarkably unchanged. Her companion interested him; knelt though he might be he looked like a bow pulled to its maximum, quivering with energy ready to be unleashed. Cocking his head, he reached out and pulled a torch from one of his men and held it up, scrutinizing what he could see of his odd tattoos as they caught the light. Nodding to himself, as a Templar he readily knew what that was, he handed the torch back and held out a hand to Hawke.

“After all these years,” he mused ironically as she accepted his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. “You literally deliver yourself to the back door of the Circle. Have you had a change of heart Hawke?”

“Not exactly,” she murmured. “I could think of no safer place from the eyes of the Seekers than in the Circle I’m supposed to have tried to overthrow.”

Cullen cocked his head, absorbing the audacity of that statement before throwing back his head and laughing.

“Hawke you never fail to surprise me,” he finally replied, wiping tears that his laughter had elicited. “And here I thought poor Carver was going to have to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m sure,” she mused aloud, “He will be just as happy to not have to babysit.”

“Yes, I’m sure he will be.” He paused to look at Fenris, standing slightly behind her. “Who is your friend here?”

“Fenris,” Hawke supplied, “Meet Cullen, Templar Knight-Commander of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi. Cullen, meet Fenris. Fenris is… my bodyguard.” Fenris inclined his head politely but made no comment. Cullen studied the other man a moment, taking in the alert stance, the way he kept his attention divided between the armed men and the conversation between Hawke and himself. He could believe this man to be a formidable opponent and looking back at Hawke, he mused that she always found the most interesting people in her orbit. He wondered if this one was likely to try starting a revolution. Mouth twisting thoughtfully, he considered his options. Hawke kept her face impassive as she watched him, knowing he was debating what he _should_ do with her, what he _wanted_ to do with her and what the middle ground was that he could live with.

“Well, since it seems I am to have a guest of some repute,” he finally said in a light tone, neglecting to mention exactly what sort of reputation he was referring, “I suppose we had better find someplace to put you up.” Looking at Fenris again, he came to another decision. “And I see no harm in leaving your ‘bodyguard’ armed.”

Hawke barely suppressed a sigh of relief as she politely inclined her head and followed behind Cullen. Maybe, she thought, this might work out after all.

* * *

“She did _what_?” Varric stared at Isabella gaping like an idiot for a moment.

“She’s gone to the Circle!” Isabella waved the paper at him. “The Circle! She’s lost her mind!”

Varric blinked several times as this ran through his brain, then slowly his mouth closed and a smile spread across his face. Finally, he started laughing. Isabella stopped pacing and stared at him, starting to think that Hawke wasn’t the only one whose brain had lost a cog as the dwarf leaned a hand to his bunk and wrapped an arm around his stomach.

“Oh,” he eventually gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. “Oh that is rich! Just rich! She’s not lost her mind Isabella, she’s pure genius!”

“What?” It was her turn to gape.

“Aveline would feel duty bound to turn her over to Cullen, friend or no she’s an apostate. Carver, for a lot of reasons might find it expedient to hand her over to the Seekers. Cullen on the other hand, isn’t likely to and better she goes herself than to have someone else take her at sword point. There is no place on all Thedas safer for her than inside that Circle right now because it’s the last place the Seekers will think to look.” Varric explained, plucking the note out of Isabella’s hand and reading Hawke’s short missive. “And she’s right; Cullen is going to be more likely to believe her when she has literally delivered herself to his mercy. Scary, but right. If she’s wrong….”

“She’ll be trapped inside the Circle forever.”

Varric chuckled. He doubted Hawke understood the meaning of forever. Patting Isabella’s hand he assured her in a tone more confident than he felt, “She’s right.”

* * *

Hawke stared around the rooms Cullen had ushered them into. Although clean, they had a feel to them of long disuse and something she couldn’t quite identify about that bothered her. Hoping that close inspection would help clarify things, her eyes stopped when they fell on a black staff, stood respectfully in a holder made of polished ironbark and steel. It was simple enough, tall because its owner had been, with the heads of three dragons, each looking different directions decorated the top. Turning to look at Cullen, carefully keeping the chill that went through her off her face and out of her voice, she regarded the Knight-Commander.

“Orsino’s rooms?”

Cullen shrugged and waving his Templars from the room, made himself comfortable on one of the couches.

“The traditional quarters of the First Enchanter actually,” Cullen shrugged. “First Enchanter Vistana wanted nothing to do with them when she was chosen to lead the mages. Couldn’t blame her considering the poor end he came to.”

Hawke sighed. Cullen was baiting her and she knew it. Looking again at the staff, she decided if Cullen wanted to play games, fine. Sitting across from him in a high-backed chair that was more comfortable than it looked, she regarded him levelly.

“Yes, I know,” she replied quietly. “I was there, with Meredith and I was the one that finally killed him.” Cullen’s eyebrow twitched but otherwise he showed no reaction to her little barb that _he_ had not been there. “No one knows better than I do what became of him.”

“He did rather prove Meredith’s point though, didn’t he?” Cullen fired back promptly.

“Only because she gave him no choice.”

“There is always a choice Hawke,” Cullen sighed, “Always.”

“What? Bending his knee and presenting his neck? You know as well as I that he would have happily done so if it would have appeased her and you know as well as I do that it wouldn’t have.” Hawke waved a hand dismissively. “This gets us nowhere Cullen. Meredith was insane, that idol had worked her into something twisted. And she had warped Orsino into something equally ugly with her paranoia. Neither was innocent. I understand that. But I also find it telling just how few of the mages that day turned to blood magic to try and survive the inferno Meredith turned loose inside the Gallows, or how many refused to fight at all. I know it didn’t pass your notice either.”

Cullen tipped his head, allowing that she was right and chuckled. This was an old argument between them and it was nice to know that some things never changed. Hawke regarded him a moment, feeling as if this were some sort of test.

“My point is that regardless of his actions, he taught his mages well.”

Cullen looked at her, nothing much showing on his face but she knew he was considering her thought on that matter. He had often thought the same thing of the dead First Enchanter, and it was telling that even in his own thoughts he still considered Orsino a First Enchanter and not a blood mage, regardless of his eventual end. On some things he and Hawke saw remarkably eye to eye.

“Let him be remembered as such,” Cullen sighed, repeating something he had told First Enchanter Vistana long ago, when she had taken the office.

“Yes,” Hawke agreed.

Silence fell, a tense one and finally Cullen looked past Hawke to where Fenris stood trying to make some sense of the conversation they were having. Looking him over again Cullen gave over to his curiosity.

“Tell me,” he remarked, leaning forward to wave a hand vaguely in Fenris’s direction, “How does one go about getting tattoos of lyrium. I’ve never heard of it.”

“One would,” Fenris replied tightly, “Be a slave in the Tevinter Empire, be experimented on by an insane magister with more wealth and power than humanity and survive not only the process, but the aftermath as well.” Cocking an eyebrow at Cullen, he finished with, “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

A Magister’s property? Looking at Hawke Cullen couldn’t help but wonder how Hawke of all people had come to be in possession of a slave. Reading Cullen’s thought Hawke shook her head.

“Fenris is a free man Cullen. He follows me of his own choice.”

“This was,” Cullen looked at Fenris, “Not something you chose to have done?”

“No.”

Hearing a lot of bitterness thrown into that one small word, Cullen cocked an eyebrow and looked at Fenris, slightly confused.

“You resent this and yet as a free man you still follow a mage?”

Fenris paused, looking at the back of Hawke’s chair and considered his words carefully.

“Hawke is no Magister.”

Cullen sat back, considering what the elf said. Nodding to himself and musing that this elf’s endorsement went further than any action in clarifying Hawke’s character to him, he wondered if this was why she had brought him. Looking at them both and remembering the pause before she had announced him her bodyguard, he finally stood.

“Well Hawke,” he said, “You chose an indecently early hour to decide to grace us with your presence. I’ll let the two of you rest.” Turning as if to leave he paused to look back and asked, “There is only one bed, should I have another one brought?”

Hawke cocked her head and regarded the innocent expression on Cullen’s face a moment before sighing.

“No.”

Nodding again, Cullen inclined his head politely to them both and left. As he did they saw that there were two Templar’s guarding the door outside. Hanging her head, Hawke sighed.  One hurdle down.

Fenris looked around the room, and wondered what Hawke had gotten them into.


	36. Chapter 36

Carver stared at Knight-Commander Cullen blankly for several moments, finding himself once again at a loss to understand his one remaining sibling. Cullen chuckled at the stunned look on the Regent’s face, and tried to decide which reaction Carver would have first – anger because he realized that in turning herself over to the Templars Hawke had plainly stated she didn’t entirely trust him, or amusement because in turning herself over to the Templars Hawke had plainly stated she didn’t entirely trust him. Carver managed to surprise him though when he instead chose to sigh with relief. The rest he supposed would come later.

“Well thank the Maker,” Carver regarded Cullen thoughtfully. “She doesn’t trust me and I don’t blame her. I never did anything to harm her you know. I even did my best to protect her but she wouldn’t know that. We weren’t really talking then.” Pausing to look around the room a moment, he sighed wearily. The trappings of leadership would have forced him to consider options that he would have rather not had to for the greater good of his people and he knew it. And apparently so did Hawke, so she had taken them off the table. Looking back at Cullen he decided to broach a subject he’d never quite had the nerve to before. “What did you tell the Seekers when they came?”

“The truth,” Cullen replied swiftly. “They didn’t seem to believe me though. Apparently they have some doubts about my fitness to lead the Kirkwall Circle because I gave Templar blessings to a mage to run this city. The entire truth is I think too complicated for them to be willing to grasp right now, the things you and Hawke found, the truth about the Grey Wardens here in Kirkwall. Chantry and Wardens do not mix, and though we Templars might understand the single-mindedness of a brother in arms, the orders have never entirely trusted each other. Things like jailing a Tevinter Magister of the original Imperium under our noses and not warning Kirkwall’s Templars that there might be repercussions inside our Circle….” Cullen shrugged.

Carver sighed. He recognized this story. He had done the same and had received the same.

“They seemed to have some idea that, even as a former Templar, because of my relationship with Hawke I was as suspect as you apparently.”

 “They will have no small amount of trouble removing me from my position. They have no proof of any wrong doing on my part, or of any dereliction in my duties.” Cullen nodded thoughtfully. “Even if it should get out that Hawke is inside my Circle they cannot use that against me. I will however not be able to protect her from them even if I wanted to. I can protest but that will do little good except put my views in the record. I can only flout so much before they will have the ammunition they need to remove me. I can’t let her destroy what I have worked for here.”

“I dare them to try and come in here and tell me how to run my city,” Carver’s voice hardened perceptively. “I may not have particularly wanted this responsibility but it is still _mine_. I will not allow the Chantry to tell me how to rule. _I_ _simply_ _will_ _not_. Unlike you I am no longer a practicing Templar.” Looking at Cullen a moment, trying to get a feel for what his friend was thinking, he finally asked the question that had been lurking in his head from the second Cullen had made his pronouncement. “What are you going to do with her?”

Cullen took a deep breath and bowed his mouth before sighing and shrugging.

“I have no idea. Right now I have her put away inside the Circle and she seems content to be there. For now I will treat her like a guest in my home and we will see what happens when Sebastian gets here.” Shooting an inscrutable look at Carver, he finished, “Then I will decide.”

Carver nodded, wondering if his sister’s gamble would blow up in her face.

“But I want to tell you about her companion,” Cullen remarked lightly. “Quite an interesting fellow on the surface….”

* * *

Hawke blinked several times when having answered a polite knock at the door she found herself looking at a face she remembered well. First Enchanter Vistana had not changed much over the years. There were a few more lines on her face, more grey to her black hair but those things seemed to just give the woman more of an air of authority. The First Enchanter had scrutinized Hawke with equal closeness in the silence and had not said anything. Stepping back to allow her entry, Hawke watched as the mage stepped past the threshold, looking around the room with a wary cast to her eye before turning back to Hawke.

“I think maybe Cullen was trying to make something of a statement, putting you here,” she remarked lightly. “I haven’t seen the inside of these rooms since before he died.”

“Cullen mentioned you refused to take the rooms.”

“I was a little afraid of what I might find,” Vistana replied honestly, “Even after the Templars had cleaned them.”

Hawke looked at the desk sat discreetly in the in the corner of the living area and had to admit that she had avoided it as well, even knowing that Cullen would have cleaned it out thoroughly.

“Maybe he thought to surprise a reaction from you, considering what came out concerning your mother.”

Hawke’s head snapped away, her eyes closed. Holding a hand up to warn the First Enchanter off that subject she turned away. When she refused to meet his eye, Fenris looked at the First Enchanter thoughtfully, wondering just who this mage was. When she sighed and regarded Hawke’s back sadly, Fenris returned to the couch he’d been sitting in before she had come to the door, making a point to lean his sword against the arm, his hand light on the hilt. Now that her attention had been drawn to him, Vistana studied the elf a moment, taking in the tattoos that ran along his throat. Cullen had told her of this elf, wanting to know if she knew anything about his condition. Deciding maybe a change of tactic was in order, she pointed to Fenris.

“I’ve heard of those,” she murmured, “Seen references in some of the Tevinter books. They speak of books far older than the Tevinter Empire, of warriors gilded with lyrium to augment their skills. I never would have thought anyone insane enough to try it.”

“You haven’t been to Tevinter,” Hawke said flatly before Fenris could think to reply.

“And you have?”

Hawke turned to look at Vistana, the seriousness of her expression making the First Enchanter blink.

“Yes.”

Deciding she didn’t want to know the reason for her visit, Vistana looked back at Fenris.

“You are?”

“Fenris,” he supplied tersely, not much caring to be talked over.

“Fenris,” Vistana nodded thoughtfully as Hawke walked away to look out the window. “I am Vistana, First Enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi. Long title that basically means I work with Knight-Commander Cullen to make sure that all the mages brought here learn to master their magic. Maybe even find a way to use it for the betterment of Thedas. One never knows.”

“Yes,” Fenris replied ironically, “One does never know.”

Cocking her head Vistana tried to read something out of that short statement except for his Tevinter accent. His face certainly gave away nothing except a mild hostility which she was sure had something to do with her upsetting Hawke. She got the strangest sense of magic off him and had to assume that was the lyrium under his skin. Odd elf, she mused.

“Vistana why are you here?” Hawke asked from the window looking down over the Gallows courtyard.

“To see why _you_ are here.”

Hawke turned to look at her a moment before going back to the view.

“In good time.”

Vistana sighed sharply and Hawke looked at her out of the corner of her eye, seeing that she was not the least happy. Hawke had never particularly liked this woman but even as Viscount she couldn’t argue that she wasn’t a good choice for the job. Much like Orsino her first concern was always her charges and their welfare and she had watched her doggedly go against Cullen on a few occasions because of it. But Vistana did not trust Hawke, did not trust a mage not trained by the Circle and would not do more than be polite to the apostate ruler of Kirkwall. Hawke knew she was working up to arguing with her. Vistana was not one to fly off the handle; she had to work up to her righteous anger.

“If it concerns Cullen then it concerns me as well. Contrary to what they think out there we rule in here together. It takes us both to make this Circle work.”

“I know.”

“Then why….”

“I approached Cullen because it was expedient to do so. Cullen can, if he so chooses, protect me against the Seekers - you can’t. I fully intend that you be involved in the discussion Vistana because you are right, it does concern you and your mages.” Hawke sighed and looked over her shoulder at the older woman. “But you will have to wait like the rest.”

Vistana blinked at her, digesting that for several moments. Pulling herself up she nodded. There was nothing in Hawke’s words she could argue with, much as she wanted to. Sighing, she looked at Fenris.

“The texts say that only the strongest warriors could survive the trial of having that done. I imagine it couldn’t have been pleasant.”

Fenris just looked at her, mouth bowed thoughtfully as he tried to decide how to respond to this abrupt mage.

“No. Nothing about them is pleasant, even now.”

Nodding sharply, she shot a look at Hawke who was back to contemplating the view.

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” Fenris growled, deciding to nip this in the bud. “And you never will.”

Vistana drew herself up at his tone, deciding perhaps now was not the time. Nodding, she made her exit without benefit of politeness, not saying another word. Hawke knew that some Circle mages spent so much time inside their gilded cage, hidden among the books and artifacts that Templars collected ‘for the common good,’ studying the monster that puberty had awakened inside them that they lost all sense for the niceties of polite society. Vistana was, in her own way one of them and Hawke was not offended by her abrupt departure. In a very real way, whether they would admit to it or not, most mages feared the reception they received outside the Circle almost as much as the outside world feared them. It was this lack of understanding that created men like Anders and women like Meredith and so the cycle would continue, pushing good people like Orsino into acts that would forever mark them as they were ground to dust. And there was no clear answer she knew, this reality of the Circles was the only middle ground to be had, just as she understood how she flouted this compromise even as she defended it. She was the grey to Vistana’s black and Cullen’s white.

Shaking herself, realizing that she was staring at the door that Vistana had closed quietly behind her, she sighed. Glancing at Fenris she saw he was studying her closely, an odd look on his own face.

“What?”

Fenris tipped his head, trying to decide how best to approach this subject. It was one of the many he had until now shied away from, knowing it would upset her but now he had decided he had seen and heard enough. He wanted to know the truth. Setting his sword aside he held his hand out, knowing this would draw her to him. Once she was sat next to him, her hand in his and a vaguely worried look on her face, he sighed.

“What happened to your mother?”

Hawke didn’t react right away. She’d known this moment would come, knew she would have no choice but to talk about this now that she was in Kirkwall, just as she knew she would be forced to account for a great many more things as well. Decisions she knew were like a drop of water into a still pond, the ripples spread out and sometimes had unknowable consequences, even years later. Looking sadly at Fenris, not bothering to try and hide the pain his question brought up inside her, she laid her head on his shoulder.

“It all started when Carver and I were trying to come up with the money to help fund Bartrand’s Deep Roads expedition. We were taking on any work we could find and this notice in the High Town market seemed straightforward enough. A minor Orlesian noble had in effect lost his wife. After we talked to him, I could rather see why she would go off and not tell him.” Pausing when Fenris chuckled, she sighed. “He gave us as much information as he had, including that his wife frequented the Hightown brothel and spent time with one of the men working there. I think it offended him more that he thought Jethann had sent white lilies to their home than that she had a lover in the first place.

“So we went to the Blooming Rose to talk to Jethann. As it would turn out he was a feisty little elf who was very fond of Ninette. It didn’t take long to see that he didn’t have her, was in fact worried himself about her sudden disappearance and had just assumed that she had finally left her husband until a Templar showed up at his doorstep asking questions about her. This Templar had told Jethann he was going to Darktown to follow some leads and if he heard anything to get in touch. So, we were off to Darktown to track down this Emeric fellow.”

“Starting to sound less and less straightforward,” Fenris commented lightly and felt her nod.

“We finally track him down and find out he’s an older Templar, the ones the order usually tries to find light duties for, and here he was in Darktown just begging for someone to decide to make a name for themselves by beating a Templar. Sometimes the Templars are as naive as the mages, never ceases to amaze me. Anyway, we find him and by this time he’s decided that curious as he is, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. So he tells us what _he_ knows, which frankly wasn’t much.

“Around the same time that Ninette disappeared one of his Circle mages had gone missing as well. That was what got him involved in the first place because everyone in the Circle just assumed she had escaped, but he seemed to believe that she wasn’t the type. So in investigating her disappearance he had discovered that a total of four women had done missing in a fairly short period of time. All of them older women, all of them without close ties to anyone except possibly for Ninette. And his Circle mage had received white lilies as well. The City Guard wasn’t interested, assuming the women had just left. The Templars weren’t interested, assuming their missing mage had escaped. No one it seemed cared but Ghyslain and Emeric, and Ghyslain only cared because he feared repercussions concerning Ninette’s family in Orlais.

“Well we took his findings, spare as they were and followed them to a Lowtown foundry. We caught sight of someone but they disappeared before we could catch them and poking around in the abandoned foundry we found a bag filled with… bits of things. One thing in there was a finger with a ring on it and Ghyslain confirmed that it was Ninette’s wedding ring. Emeric tried to get the Guards interested but they insisted the things in that bag could have come from anywhere and shut him down again.

“If there is anything in this I regret? It was not searching that foundry more thoroughly. If we had we might have prevented….” Hawke’s voice seemed to run out of steam, getting quieter and quieter until it fell to silence. Fenris, having decided that he didn’t care much for where he saw this leading, simply slipped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing the hand he still had clasped in his own. Perhaps now had not been a good time for this he decided. She had not slept, had instead paced and he’d forgiven it because he knew she needed this outlet.

“You don’t need to finish.”

“But,” Hawke whispered as she nestled her face against his neck, “I want to.”

“Later,” Fenris replied releasing her hand and running his fingers along her jaw. “Sleep.”

He felt her nod as he laid his chin on her temple and soon he knew she was gone. Hoping his presence would keep her dreams mild he sighed and stared out a window across the room, the one that framed Kirkwall’s distant Hightown. Something inside Hawke was broken and he suspected that this city held at least some of the answers.

* * *

“You would have turned her over to Cullen and you know it Aveline,” Varric quipped as he sat back in one of the rather uncomfortable chairs that Aveline kept in her office, “She just took that decision out of your hands.”

Aveline sighed. The dwarf was right but that still didn’t make it easier to swallow.

“Cullen is a hard man to know Varric, he might keep her.”

“I’m sure Hawke considered that.” Or at least he hoped so anyway. “Her note said that Isabella and I were to keep strictly clear of the Gallows and that you should too unless you have business there. I don’t know if the Seekers would be watching Kirkwall or not, but she seems determined to assume they are.”

“Oh,” Aveline assured him, “I suspect they are. They were not the least happy with the answers they got while they were here, but since we were all essentially saying the same things they couldn’t move against Cullen without direct orders. The woman in charge wasn’t happy with that.”

Varric folded his arms and stared at the Templar shield that was hung on the wall behind her, the one memento of her first husband. Wesley may be an odd twenty years gone but his presence was still very much a part of Aveline and Varric vaguely wondered how Donnic dealt with that fact. Sighing he regarded the ginger Guard Captain a moment, trying to decide how to decide how best to go about completing the task Hawke’s note had sent him on. Finally, considering this was Aveline after all and how she was as direct as Hawke had ever been, he decided to just out with it.

“You’ve noticed the Crows I’m sure.”

Aveline’s attention was immediately riveted to him in a way he had always found uncomfortable. Covering that with an amused chuckle, he nodded.

“Thought so. They are here at Hawke’s request and she asked me to tell you that they will cause you no problems.”

“Varric I am getting reports of encampments of strangers all along the Wounded Coast and even up on Sundermont. All told there must be,” she paused to think a moment and finally shrugged, “At least a good hundred or so of them just outside the city. Who knows how many are in it. A good number that I do know because the patrols were noticing them before we even knew Hawke was coming. Back in Ferelden we used to call big flocks of crows ‘murders,’ and I can’t think of a better description of what is going on outside of Kirkwall right now. Why?”

Varric sighed. She wasn’t going to be happy.

“I can’t tell you.”

Aveline stood suddenly and slapped the flat of her hand down on the desk.

“ _Dammit_ _Varric_ , Hawke is asking a lot!”

Varric slapped a hand to his chest dramatically.

“My _heart_ Aveline! I’m not a young man anymore!”

“Oh stuff it you smartass,” Aveline fired back without pause, refusing to be sidetracked. “I know you know what is going on and I resent her just expecting that I will follow blindly along!”

Looking at her a moment, he knew she was truly pissed because her face was almost as red as her hair, Varric considered his words carefully.

“Aveline, Hawke stumbled into something big, something that _should_ concern the whole of Thedas but won’t. Why? Because in the right now it concerns Tevinter and when the Chantry is dealing with mages refusing to behave, _Templars_ refusing to behave the last thing they are going to concern themselves with is Tevinter.”

Aveline cocked her head, and regarded the dwarf thoughtfully a moment.

“And the Qunari woman you have on the Siren’s Call?”

Varric shrugged and refused to comment further. Leave it to Aveline to keep tabs on them all. Sighing, Aveline simply pointed at the door and Varric knew his welcome was ended. Nodding, he slid from the chair and left Aveline to her thoughts.

* * *

Carver stood at the window, looking down on a garden that the Circle mages kept. It was hidden deep inside the Gallows complex, surrounded on all sides by high walls and buildings. Parts of it were kept so that food and various herbs could be grown but a large part of it had been put aside for trees and flowers, creating a little green space inside an otherwise bleak world of granite. The chill of autumn had killed back all but the hardiest of the plants, but even now some bright colors shown through. Today had dawned bright and the sun had brought mildness to the day so it didn’t surprise him when Cullen informed him that Hawke was out in the garden. She always had enjoyed the outdoors, even in Ferelden and had much preferred to be outside with him and their father than inside with Bethany and their mother. It was one of the reasons he was sure she so loved it in Seheron.

“She’s been remarkably quiet these last few days. The only requests she’s made were to be allowed into the garden,” Cullen remarked lightly from behind Carver, wondering at the Regent’s thoughts. “Vistana decided to approach her and was apparently sent away none the wiser. She’s still holding her cards to her chest, insisting on waiting for Sebastian.”

“And it’s likely to be weeks before he can get here,” Carver sighed.

“Yes.”

Carver fell silent, watching the distant Hawke as she sat under a tree aflame with the colors of autumn with a platinum haired man he did not recognize, a book open in his lap. He seemed to be reading to her from it. Looking over his shoulder, he tipped his head to the window.

“That the elf?”

Cullen nodded and Carver studied them both. When Cullen had told him about the marked elf Carver had been pulled up short. None of Malcolm Hawke’s children had been raised to look down on anyone; indeed Malcolm himself had held elves in some regard though he’d never said precisely why. That she had chosen to apparently take one as a lover didn’t shock him, but the fact that this man was a former Tevinter slave… well that made him wonder. What exactly had Hawke been doing for all these years that she hadn’t included in her letters?

“Well shall we go see what they are up to?” Cullen held a hand out to indicate the staff that Carver had leaned against the wall next to the door on his arrival, eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Our father’s staff, the one he got while he was here in the Gallows. He kept it even if he never used it, gave it to Hawke when he decided she was old enough,” Carver explained as he retrieved it. “She left it when she took off. I thought she might like to have it.”

“Ah,” Cullen mused aloud as he followed Carver out into the hall, “A peace offering perhaps?”

Carver didn’t reply right away, just looked at Cullen with an inscrutable look.

“Something like that.”

Not much caring for the tone, Cullen waved the two Templars guarding his office to follow.

* * *

Hawke sat silent, head leaned back against the rough bark of the tree with her eyes focused on the brilliant display of reds over their head as Fenris worked his way through a volume on elven history they had found on the shelves in Orsino’s rooms. He really was getting quite good at this, she mused as he made it through an entire paragraph without needing to stop and work out any of the words. She wished they had been able to bring Danarius’s book because they were now well into the third volume but she hadn’t wished to bring anything she wasn’t strictly willing to leave behind if it came to that. Fenris had given the books to Hassrath, asking him to please keep them safe from the prying eyes of either Varric or Isabella and the Kossith warrior had taken this charge much like he took any other – very seriously. That Fenris so trusted the Tal-Vashoth spoke volumes to anyone paying attention and it pleased Hawke no end that he had made an honest friend of the man even if his reaction to her left her a little leery of him.

Her musings were interrupted when a sharp bark of wind found its way past all the fortifications surrounding the garden and leaves began shaking themselves loose from the swaying branches. Indeed the leaves lying about from all the trees began to dance on the air currents, creating a storm of color. Shielding her eyes she smiled broadly at Fenris; moments like this transported her back to Lothering and her childhood. Standing, she chased after a whirlwind of leaves and finding herself inside it, began twirling around and laughing. Fenris laid the book aside and stood leaning against the tree watching with smile of his own until he heard the vague sound of metal to metal over the eruption of rustling and knew that someone was approaching. Glancing over his shoulder he saw it was Cullen and his usually present guards. The stranger with them and the only one not in full armor piqued his interest because he knew this man to be Hawke’s brother by the thin coronet on his head.

Carver stopped, watching Hawke as she played in the leaves unaware of their approach. He remembered her and Bethany doing this same thing in the forests around Lothering during the autumn months. Both seemed to regard the season as their favorite though he’d never quite understood why. He himself had always preferred the spring with its air of promise, the fall always a reminder that all things came to an end and the only promise here was death even if it was glorious. Glancing to where the elf stood watching him curiously, he inclined his head politely before looking back to his sister.

She had noticed them and stood silent and still, watching as he suddenly took several steps and threw the staff in his hand. Hawke watched as it flew gracefully to her and at the last moment reached up caught it before it could sail over her head. Knowing this weapon like she knew every line of her own hands, she snatched it from the air at its pivot point and understanding its balance began twirling the simple wooden staff. Stretching muscles that hadn’t worked in this sort of concert for a decade she whirled it in a circle over her head a moment before bringing it down hard on the earth before her, scaring up a dusting of leaves that were just starting to settle as the wind had changed. Fenris watched, his arms crossed and his face impassive as he realized this was her weapon of choice. It showed in the comfort with which she handled it, not even looking at what her hands were doing, instead meeting her brother’s eye boldly as she showed off her skill.

“It’s nice to know,” Carver commented lightly, “That some things never change. Still handy with a big stick I see.”

“Just as you,” Hawke fired back promptly, an eyebrow rising slowly, “Are still handy with the big knife I see across your back. Or at least I assume so anyway, you never struck me as the type to enjoy sitting at a desk.”

Carver cocked his head and nodded.

“You’re right,” he conceded. “The hours I have to spend sitting listening to people bitch and complain are not the highlights of my day.”

“Thought not,” Hawke smirked before looking at the staff he had thrown at her. “I almost took this with me you know.”

“Why didn’t you? You didn’t take any of the staves you collected over the years. I certainly had no use for them.”

Hawke looked sadly at the staff her father had given her not long before his death.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Wouldn’t I now?”

Hawke fired an irritated look at her brother, knowing he was trying to bait her and not caring.

“No.”

“Just abandoned them,” Carver held his arms out, a disapproving look painted across his face. “Just like you abandoned your Mabari?”

Hawke pulled herself straight, firing a fierce look at her brother before replying.

“I did not ‘abandon’ him. I left him with _you_.”

Carver waved a dismissive hand at her.

“He pined for you for years you know. The servants told me how he would lie at the door waiting for you.”

“The servants told you? What was he doing when you were there Carver?” When he didn’t answer right away Hawke sighed. “Let me guess he was laying no more than the length of this staff from you right? Never once occurred to you he was waiting _for_ _you_.”

“He wasn’t my dog Hawke. I was just an acceptable substitute was all.”

“Maybe so, but you would rather I took him along with me? Old as he was? Tired as he was? I think the journey would have killed him faster than leaving him with you.”

“You left a great many things to me when you left Hawke.”

“No,” Hawke cocked her head at him, her eyebrows drawn together a moment before she threw the staff back at him. Watching as he caught it without any of the flourish she had, she pointed at him and finished sadly, “I _entrusted_ a great many things to you Carver. Because I knew you could do it. I thought you understood that but I guess I was wrong.”

Carver stood staring at the staff he held as she marched over to the tree to pick up the book Fenris had left sitting among the leaves. When she went to walk past him, having decided this conversation was going nowhere, he reached out and snagged her arm to stop her, looking thoughtfully at her.

“You entrusted me with a life not my own Marian.”

“But you made it yours didn’t you? You wear that coronet easier than I ever did.” Hawke pulled her arm free. “You are the perfect man to govern here, son and brother to apostate mages, former Templar. You understand both sides, you understand the truth and you don’t come equipped with the same baggage as me. I’m just the one that stood when no one else could,” Turning, as she left she fired a weary, “Or would.”

Both Carver and Cullen watched as she left, Cullen noticing long before Carver that the elf didn’t follow her. Instead Fenris remained leaned against the tree, regarding Carver closely. When Carver noticed Cullen’s thoughtful look, he followed it to the elf that he had frankly forgotten. Fenris met his eye boldly, not bothering to hide what he thought of this exchange. He knew Hawke was better than this, he assumed Carver to be as well or he wouldn’t be allowed to make decisions that affected the lives of thousands. Slowly uncrossing his arms he pushed away from the tree and followed the path Hawke had taken, pausing next to the Regent as he did. Not looking at Carver, Fenris shook his head.

“She cares deeply about you,” he growled lowly so that Cullen wouldn’t hear, “Otherwise your barbs would not make her bleed.”

With that said he continued on, leaving Carver staring after him.


	37. Chapter 37

She was pacing again. Fenris leaned his sword against the wall next to the door and watched her a moment. And she was angry, muttering under her breath about her brother and not caring that he could hear every word. She still hadn’t done more than catnap the last few days and only ate when he pushed her. She was, he knew way outside her comfort zone and it was starting to show now. She had worn the mantle of leadership once and by all accounts done it effortlessly until the day came that it was shoved in her face that her decisions could mean life and death to innocent people. Now this responsibility hung on her shoulders like a weight and if something didn’t give soon she might break under the strain of having her own past thrown on there was well.

“Hawke?”

“I do _not_ want to talk about it,” she muttered vehemently.

He sighed.

“Hawke?”

She didn’t bother saying anything to him this time, just continued pacing past the windows and when he walked across the room to stand in her way, she just walked around him. Turning he grabbed her arm with enough force that when she swung around she wore a surprised wince on her face.

“Marian!”

“What!”

Fenris watched as she struggled to get loose from him a moment, a little surprised when she dug her nails into his hand. Hissing, he released her only to snag both wrists and push her bodily against the wall. When she continued to struggle with a determined look to her eye he decided he didn’t trust her not to try any of her rogue dirty tricks and quickly tangled her legs in his own. As she continued to twist and strain to free herself, he buried his face in her hair.

“Stubborn,” he growled in her ear. “Stubborn, temperamental, tenacious and quite possibly the most willful woman I have ever met!” When she went perfectly still he knew she still hadn’t given up, tension sang along every inch of her. “I cannot begin to express how frustrating you can be.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because,” Fenris sighed as he began tracing the shell of her ear with the tip of his nose, “You are also compassionate, empathetic, and gentle. Seheron brought those things out in you. There you were a healer through and through. Here?” He paused to catch her earlobe between his teeth and bite down just hard enough he heard her hiss from the pain. “This place is bringing out the fighter in you, the intractable woman who worries but still will not back down from what she knows is right. The one that is just spoiling for a fight from any quarter, even those you hope to make allies.”

“What,” she whispered harshly as she again started to struggle, not liking where this sharp insight was going, “Would you know about it?”

Catching both her wrists in one hand he pulled back enough to tangle his hand in her hair and tugging hard enough that she winced, he scowled at her.

“A lot more than you might think.”

Not waiting for her response he slanted his mouth over hers and when she gasped in surprise he took full advantage, sliding his tongue in to add its none to gentle exploration to the hard dominance of the kiss. When she continued to squirm, indignant little sounds issuing from her, he leaned his full weight into her. Struggling for air but refusing to admit defeat, she changed tactics. Deciding if this was the way he wanted it, fine. She could play Wicked Grace as well. Softening her stance she began responding in kind to his hard kiss, deliberately nipping at his tongue as she did. Growling deep inside his chest, Fenris redoubled his efforts to force her to relent, but instead she just began squirming again. This time however she wasn’t trying to get away, instead she was deliberately pressing and rubbing herself against him, looking for a response his body was only too happy to give her. Groaning and equally unwilling to give in, Fenris pulled his mouth from hers and yanking her head to the side grazed his teeth roughly along her throat, biting down where it met her shoulder, stopping just shy of breaking the skin.

“Stop fighting me,” he snarled when she gasped.

“No.”

Pulling his head back he looked at her, taking in the aroused flush, heavy lids that topped the defiant glint in her eye and lips already swollen from their hard kiss. Stifling a groan he released her hair and reaching down snagged her leg behind the knee, pulling it roughly up so that he could use her own tactic against her as he ground himself into her. Watching with no small amount of satisfaction as her eyes closed and her breath caught in her throat, he leaned in to let his tongue trace the folds of her ear before whispering, “No?”

Shaking him off, she glared at him.

“No.”

Mildly amused now where before he’d been angry, Fenris decided she wasn’t the only one that could change strategy midstream. Releasing her knee, he let his hand slide slowly up her thigh, and at her hip slid it under the tunic she wore. Once his fingers encountered soft, warm flesh he began letting them slowly explore the lines of her ribs which his having her stretched out brought up. The muscle along her jaw began to twitch as she gritted her teeth against this new method he brought to bear, but still she glared at him. Cocking his head to the side when his fingers encountered the edge of her smalls, he spread his fingers and slid them up until the bottom of her breast was nestled in the crook of his thumb. Watching as she stiffened up, he swirled his thumb against a nipple already half hardened through the material and only just managed not to smirk when not only did it harden up to poke at the cloth covering it, she had to struggle not to react. As hard as she tried though she couldn’t stifle the gasp when he tugged her smalls out of the way and took her breast in his hand and slowly, gently toyed with it. Leaning in again, he started running feather light kisses along her throat, stopping occasionally to let his tongue graze at the sensitive skin. When he again made his way to her ear, nuzzling behind it he again whispered, his voice deep with his own desire, “No?”

She sighed but didn’t answer him, instead arching into him as he ran his fingernails lightly along the pebbled surface under his hand. Pulling back, he looked at her. She hadn’t completely surrendered he saw, but she _had_ accepted that her body was utterly betraying her.

“Let me go,” she whispered thickly, “And find out.”

One eyebrow rising at the clear challenge she had just issued he again slanted his mouth over hers, this time with passion and not anger. She rose to the confrontation, matching his desire with one of her own and Fenris growled in the back of his throat as he let her hands go. Leaving his hand pressed flat to the wall above them, he was unsurprised when both of hers buried themselves in his hair, her fingers tangled into the soft, fineness of it. He was also completely unsurprised when after she decided she had had enough of the hot blooded kiss she yanked his head back so that she could turn her ardent attention to his throat, deliberately biting down hard on those areas she knew to be sensitive. Hissing, his free hand finally coming from the wall to bury itself in her hair and almost completely lost to the heated rush this aggressive, angry Hawke was creating in him, he _was_ completely unprepared when she used it against him.

Snarled as their legs were she managed to use his distraction to find just enough leverage to unbalance him and tangled as his hands were there was nothing he could do about it except bring her with him. When he hit the floor with all the grace of a dead tree bowing to the wind, his head smacking hard against the wood and her weight forcing the air from him, he lay there tense and helpless as he tried to work out what had just happened. Before he could clear his vision of the bright spots the sharp blow had created, Hawke pulled a throwing dagger she kept hidden in her boot and with a speed and efficiency that surprised him she used the sharp edge to cut at the tunic he wore. Driving the point deep into the wood not a handspan from his head, she grabbed the two edges and yanked, the feral smile on her face a clear testament to the pleasure she got from hearing the fabric tear. Blinking at the knife as she ran her hands up his stomach and chest, Fenris understood the message she had delivered but it didn’t stop him from allowing his eyes to close as her mouth replaced her hands, working slowly back down.

When she reached the barrier provided by his leggings, Fenris couldn’t stifle the groan as she proceeded to rub her cheek along the hardness she found there, even going so far as to nip at him through the leather. He knew what she had in mind and also knew that in the state he was in he would have a hard time resisting her. Suspecting that was the plan from the beginning he decided she had had her playtime, now it was his turn again. Sitting up and snagging her under the arms, he pulled her bodily with him as he went back down, smiling when she growled in annoyance. Rolling away from the knife he trapped her under him, capturing both hands in his, fingers twined as he held them in place. Catching her mouth with his, he fought her urgency with a slow lingering kiss. Her frustrated sounds just added to his determination; she was not going to get what she wanted until she admitted defeat. It took some time, but finally she relaxed into his indulgent, gentle touch.

“You don’t fight fair,” she sighed as she followed his ear tip to earlobe with her finger.

Making a sound that was somewhere between a groan and grunt, he lifted his head from the breast he had been working softly at and regarded her a moment before taking her hand and rubbing it lightly at the knot on the back of his head.

“Neither,” he growled without much venom, “Do you.”

Smiling she pulled him up to her, meeting him with a passionate kiss that had him rumbling deep in his chest. When she finally broke it off, running feather light kisses along his jaw, she whispered, “Admit it, you loved every minute.”

Admitting to nothing, Fenris decided he’d had enough of the floor and pulling himself to his knees, he finally stripped off the remnants of his ruined tunic.  Pulling her with him, when they both gained their feet he swept her into his arms. With her face buried in his neck, her teeth grazing at the markings along its side, he wasted no time getting her to the sleeping chamber and the one lone bed.

* * *

Cullen regarded Carver silently as the Regent stared after the elf, a distant look on his face. He suspected this interrupted conversation was something that had been a long time coming. When Hawke had made the decision to leave she had not consulted with Carver, she had simply disappeared one night, leaving a letter for her brother that Cullen was for the most part not privy too. As her only heir the burden of the office had fallen to him if he chose to take it and Carver had felt duty bound to do so. If their parents had done nothing else, they had instilled in their children a strong sense of responsibility. The task set before him had been a true challenge because Carver had little experience in leadership and less in politics but again, Marian and Carver Hawke were in a lot of respects alike and he had risen to the challenge.

‘Maybe,’ Cullen mused as Carver finally tore his gaze from the far door to look at the staff in his hand like he was just noticing that she hadn’t taken it with her, ‘Too much alike.’

“Amazing,” Carver finally murmured aloud, more to himself than to Cullen. “Bethany was Mother’s exact replica, Hawke was nothing like her. But somehow she manages to make me feel two inches tall no matter if I am right or wrong, _just_ like Mother did. Sometimes all it took was a _look_.”

Cullen chuckled and slapped a hand to his friend’s shoulder as Carver shook his head.

“It’s a woman thing I think, some hereditary instinct,” Cullen replied lightly. “I have to admit that there are times that the First Enchanter manages to make me feel like a toddler with my hand in the cookies.”

Carver shot Cullen a look that screamed how very much he doubted that and Cullen couldn’t stop a laugh. Soon Carver had joined him as they turned to follow Hawke and Fenris back inside the Gallows. As they entered the hall, Cullen’s Templars staying a respectful distance behind them, Carver looked at Cullen thoughtfully.

“I have a right to be angry, don’t I?”

“Yes,” Cullen nodded after a pause to think it through, “But so does she. You two need to find some common ground, one that does not involve that anger.”

Carver nodded thoughtfully as his thumb rubbed along the wood in his hand, the only real memento of their father to survive Lothering.

* * *

Fenris sat propped against the headboard watching as Hawke slept – truly slept for the first time since they had left Llomerryn. Deep in the Fade she hadn’t really moved in hours and he vaguely considered that perhaps he should just keep her in the bed until this Sebastian’s arrival. As pleasant a thought as that might be, he suspected it would require physical restraints and he couldn’t see Hawke having a good reaction to being tied to the simple headboard of the bed. Looking at the scratches on his hand he mused that it might prove the safer option next time she was in this sort of mood.  Sighing, he slid down so that he could lie curled to her back. When he slipped his arms around her and pulled her to him she made a fuzzy, indistinct sound before settling herself against him, one of her hands sliding along the back of his. When he spread his fingers hers slipped between them and as they curled around one another she whispered, “Fenris.”

 Never had he heard his name spoken in such a way, relaxed and dreamy – trusting, and even though he knew she trusted him implicitly, to hear it so simply and plainly caused a fierce rush of protectiveness to sing along every nerve he had. Fenris counted few things in this world as his own but in this second none of them were quite as important to him as this woman. She was his and he would fight to his dying breath if that was what it took to defend that. Closing his eyes, he committed everything about this moment to memory from the way her hair smelled as he nuzzled behind her ear, to the feel of her fingers twined between his.

Somehow sleep crept up on him, like a cat on graceful, silent paws and he never noticed it happening until she shifted, sleep receding from her. Lifting his head he watched as her brows furrowed stubbornly as she tried to hang to the vague vapor of the Fade but like all fog, it slipped gracefully away. Finally, grudgingly, her eyes slitted open to blearily take in the shadows of early evening as they spilled through the window. Brows drawn together she turned her head to look up at him and stifled a yawn.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed the sleep.”

She didn’t argue that point, instead shifting around until she was stretched along his side, her head on his shoulder and hand on his chest, a finger absently tracing along the tattoo that stretched down the center, ending at the bottom of his breastbone. In the comfortable silence both were lost to their own thoughts and apparently for once Hawke’s weren’t concerning political maneuvering or Qunari invasions. Looking at her finger a moment thoughtfully she turned her eyes up at him questioningly.

“You said once that it hurt to be touched.”

Fenris considered that, thinking back to the moment she was referring and sighed.

“I am surprised you ever laid a finger to me after that,” he remarked lightly.

 “I went out of my way not to,” she chuckled dryly, “But….”

Fenris nodded. He well understood that ‘but.’ That ‘but’ was as much his fault as hers; he was the one that kept touching _her_. Struggling to figure out how to explain it, he sighed.

“The lyrium… they _are_ sensitive. I sometimes question if the pain is a memory come back to haunt me because at first it _was_ painful, even the lightest touch could bring me to my knees. Danarius had no sympathy for it, just kept pushing even though using them felt like I was on fire.” He paused, a faraway look on his face. “Even the touch of cloth hurt; sometimes a breeze would set them off. I suppose you can get used to anything eventually when you have no other choice because as time went on it bothered me less and less but still, when someone physically touched me….”

Hawke looked at her hand. It had fallen still as he spoke, now just lying flat to his chest and thought about that a moment, considering what she knew from Danarius’s journals because Fenris never spoke of his slavery unless she asked and it wasn’t a subject she was keen to know more of.

“Does it hurt when I touch you?”

He considered that a moment before nodding. Hawke’s first reaction was to pull away, the last thing she ever wanted to do was cause him pain but Fenris had anticipated this reaction. The arm wrapped around her shoulders held her tight and his other hand caught hers as she pulled it away from his chest, pressing it back. He laid his cheek to the top of her head, silent for several moments as he carefully considered his words.

“It is a dull thing Hawke,” he whispered, “Like the itch of a healing wound and nothing to me. I recognized a long time ago that pain would forever be part of my life; this is one small one I willingly accept because….”

He wanted to say it, yearned to do so but the words stuck in his throat, creating a lump that he could only just breath through, one so painful it brought tears to his eyes. When his breath hitched in his chest Hawke tried to move, to look up at him and he tightened his hold on her, not wanting her to see what he knew was there, all over his face. Something inside him refused to allow him to admit to this weakness and the pain it caused him eclipsed any pain he had ever felt before. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he finally found his footing.

“I willingly accept this one because now I understand gentleness Hawke. You taught me that not every touch is meant to hurt, meant to degrade or control. You woke something inside me that had lain dormant for all my memory and you did it without thought for the consequences.” He sighed, unsure he was expressing this correctly. “The night we first kissed you were trying to comfort me and even though I had made it clear I would react badly you reached out anyway and in doing so taught me something that I will forever be grateful for. You taught me the true purpose of touch.”

She nodded, for once at a loss for words and stared at his hand over hers, the feel of his heart under her palm. Fenris knew what her silence meant, knew that she was thinking over what he had just said and knowing her, probably what he hadn’t as well. It was a long while before she finally spoke.

“Maybe that is why.”

Pulling his head back to look down at her quizzically, it took a moment before she looked up to meet his eye.

“Maybe that’s why it’s a ‘dull thing’,” she whispered. “Maybe the pain isn’t some ghost of your past but the lyrium reacting to you. You expect it to hurt so it does.”

When his brows drew together, she knew she hadn’t said it right.

“I have seen magic do odd things. I’ve seen mages with no real talent for fire spells beyond lighting a candle throw off well formed fireballs that could set whole houses on fire because they were angry. Or use force spells that sent everyone in the vicinity flying, friend or foe because they felt seriously threatened. Magic is funny that way and it’s something every mage has to learn to control. You _have_ to keep the magic separated from your emotions or all manner of interesting things happen.” She paused to rub a finger along the lyrium under her hand. “That’s magic too. If the philosophers of the Chantry are right, that is the stuff the Maker used to create the world, if researchers in Tevinter are right that is magic escaped from the Fade, in a raw, physical form. Either way, it’s magic and magic reacts to emotions. Maybe, just maybe the lyrium is reacting to _you_. You’re not expecting a dull pain, you’re expecting something harsher and the lyrium gives you what you expect.”

Fenris stared at her a moment, trying to wrap his brain around this. When she laid her head back on his shoulder, he looked over her at the dark that was slowly leaching the color from the sky beyond the window, lost in thought. He never even noticed when she fell asleep again.

* * *

Carver sat watching his daughter sleep, nestled against his chest were she had curled to listen to him read to her. The older she got the more of his mother he could see in her features and sometimes the reminder that she would never know her only granddaughter tore at his heart. He had bowed to his wife Kalina’s judgment when naming their sons but when she gave him a daughter he had insisted on her name, insisted she was Leandra because he in some small way hoped his mother knew. Now studying his daughters face he realized just how much Hawke looked like their mother as well. She had none of her coloring, taking after him and their father there but the line of her jaw, the set of her eyes all gave away her Amell lineage and his daughter could easily be mistaken for a child of Hawke’s.

Sighing, he set the book aside and gently set his daughter among the pillows on her bed. She mumbled an incoherent protest, but curled herself into a snug little ball, pulling the simple stuffed mabari that Orana had given her tight to her chest. Pulling the covers over her, he leaned down and brushed a light kiss across her temple and mused that there was possibly nothing in the world as sweet as this child sleeping. Dimming the oil lanterns that hung along the wall, he pulled the door to and turned to cross to the rooms that he shared with his wife across the hall. Kalina looked at him in the mirror of her dressing table as came in, quietly brushing her dark chestnut hair.

He was preoccupied she saw as he sat on the end of the bed to pull off his boots. It wasn’t unusual in of itself but his pensive look was and she sat her brush down, abandoning the dressing table to sit silently next to him. He had come home like this, sat through dinner like this, only seeming to come out of his thoughts when the children spoke to him. She had hoped that perhaps putting Leandra to bed would break him out of it but apparently not. When he tossed his boots carelessly into the corner as was his habit, he stared after them a moment before sighing deeply and looking at her. He was tired, the lines around his eyes made that painfully clear and she knew he had not slept well. She didn’t know what it was that weighed so heavily on his mind because he rarely brought home the problems of his office but she suspected, had for several days now, that this time he would have no choice. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed, waiting.

Carver could plainly see that Kalina knew something was wrong. He’d tried to keep the deep seated worry about what Hawke’s return could mean from his family but the longer it went on without some sign of her intentions the harder it was to do it. Slipping an arm around his wife’s shoulders, he mused to himself that perhaps he shouldn’t have even tried. Kalina knew him too well and knew that eventually he would tell her what was wrong. This soft moment was her way of telling him that the time had come and with only a small pause to order his thoughts, he told her of his sister’s return.

Kalina listened without interruption, her head still on his shoulder, and his hand in both of hers. She had never met Marian Hawke because Kirkwall had not been her home until Carver had brought her here from Starkhaven. What she knew she knew from Carver, from her infamy in the outside world and good standing inside the gates of her adopted city. Kirkwall remembered her Champion fondly regardless of what the Chantry and the Seekers thought. Had she not saved them from the Qunari? Had she not saved the Circle even if she failed to save the Chantry? Had she not led them out of the dark both times and preserved their city and their way of life? Was she not another example of a Ferelden immigrant making good after escaping the Blight? What did it matter that she was an apostate, she had done those things and more and Kirkwall’s citizenry would forever hold her in esteem for it. The tales of her exploits seeded long ago by Varric still rang along her streets, not just in the alehouses and back alley’s where they had been born, and Kalina knew that no matter the thoughts of the world outside, here in Kirkwall Marian Hawke was loved.

When he finally finished, his words running slowly out of steam, his fears and worries about what his sister’s return might mean laid plain and bare, Kalina sighed and brought his hand to her and brushed her lips along the knuckles. Of all the things she loved about her husband, it was his hands that had attracted her first. They were not the hands of an administrator even if that was what he now was. They were big, thick fingered and calloused, fine scars gilding them to show this man worked hard. Carver’s entire life was right there, written on his hands and to Kalina they were his finest feature. Turning it over she pressed the rough palm to her cheek and looking up at him she sighed.

“It will be all right,” she whispered, knowing he needed to hear that when everyone else around him had to be just as worried as he was. “No matter what, it _will_ be all right.”

The firm conviction in her light, melodic voice was just the crutch that Carver needed and he realized that he had been a fool for keeping this from her. Nodding he pulled her into his lap, slanting his lips over hers in a gentle, familiar kiss. Carver was a man of words, spent his days with no choice but to express himself precisely and concisely but with her there was no need, she already knew.

* * *

Cullen eyed Carver, one eyebrow cocked high and a cautious look across his face, running the Regent’s request through his head again to make sure he had heard him properly. Carver regarded the Knight-Commander’s expression with one of vague amusement.

“You said we needed a common ground, one that didn’t involve anger. There it is.”

Cullen considered that a moment, mouth bowed thoughtfully. As a Templar his immediate knee-jerk reaction was an absolute firm ‘no,’ but…. Cullen sighed and sat in one of the chairs Carver kept in his office and looked at the glass Carver had handed him before taking a drink of the brandy. It was well past hours, Carver’s seneschal long since having retired for the night and very few people were in the Keep except the Guards. It had been several days since Carver’s visit to the Gallows and Cullen had noticed a marked quiet in Marian Hawke during his visits. She seemed… pensive, somehow lost inside her own head. Even the elf seemed concerned though it was hard to tell. Whenever Cullen was around he seemed to fade into the background, a silent shadow that took everything in.

‘Maybe,’ he thought, ‘It isn’t such a bad idea. It would certainly give Hawke something new to consider before she drops whatever bomb she has up her sleeve.’

“This wasn’t your idea was it?”

“No,” Carver chuckled, “But that doesn’t make it any less of a good one.”

“Why do I smell the distinct odor of lilacs?”

Carver chuckled again, knowing that Cullen was giving it serious consideration.

“Yes, it was Kalina’s idea.”

Nodding, Cullen sighed.

“All right, explain this to me again?”

* * *

Hawke stared at the note in her hand a moment, and then looked at the Templar who had delivered it. He was young, probably no more than sixteen years under his belt but she knew that some Templars were veterans by that age. Many of the children that were raised in Chantry orphanages either became members of the Chantry or the Templars. They were essentially raised into it. Hawke’s father once told her that he suspected that more than a few of the children the Chantry ‘took in’ were in fact the products of the Circles, the children sometimes produced by illicit affairs by mages and Templars alike. Where better to watch and see if their magical heritage took hold? This young Templar regarded her with a silent, respectful but slightly cautious expression, no sign anywhere of any nervousness. Behind him stood two older Templars with equally innocuous expressions as they too regarded her and none of the three were in their Templar armor. Looking down to reread the note, she wondered if they knew who she was. Sighing, she nodded and gently closing the door, handed the note to Fenris.

“It seems my brother has convinced Cullen to let us out of the gilded cage for a while,” she remarked lightly, far lighter than the expression on her face.

Fenris read the note slowly, having some trouble with the hasty scrawl. It was from Cullen, saying that they had been invited to a party and he was honor bound to deliver them. He looked at Hawke, his brow furrowed deeply. Hawke shrugged.

“I guess we had best make ourselves respectable. We are apparently dining with royalty tonight.”

Fenris’s head drew back slightly at that remark and cocking his head tossed her a slightly mocking look.

“I dine with royalty _every_ night Hawke,” he remarked as she walked past him towards the sleeping chamber. “Or at least that is what I have been told anyway.”

Hawke ignored the gentle barb, thinking to herself if only that were true. Fenris followed her, stopping to lean against the doorframe as she pulled open the massive wardrobe and stared in. Vistana had seen to it that a wide range of clothes had been delivered on their arrival and had included several robes which Hawke had routinely ignored as well as a few simple dresses. Fenris watched as she reached in and pulled the skirt of one out, the wool pinched between her finger and thumb. He was somehow unsurprised when she released the black dress and reached in and pulled out another, this one a royal blue with a simple blackwork trim done in gold. Holding it up, she regarded him a moment before laying it across the bed and sighing. Slipping up behind her Fenris stood waiting, watching the tension along her shoulders. She ignored him a few moments to regard the dress but finally turned and sliding her arms around his waist, buried her face in his neck and stood trembling in his arms.

Fenris didn’t understand it, this fear in her of confronting her own blood, just as he didn’t understand the rancor that seemed to exist between them. But he did understand her need to know someone cared so he rubbed his cheek to hers.

“It will be all right Hawke,” he whispered, “Just remember that.”


	38. Chapter 38

Cullen stood at the dock, regarding the group approaching with a mild air of amusement. Hawke didn’t look entirely happy and he really hadn’t expected her to be. Fenris loomed behind her, unsurprisingly in the armor he had arrived in and eyes everywhere, taking in everything he could see of the Gallows courtyard and docks in the crisp, dimming light of early evening. Without pausing to so much as glance at the Knight-Commander, Hawke politely lifted her skirts and boarded the skiff. Seating herself, she shot Cullen a haughty look before pulling the deep hood of her cloak over her head. Cullen looked at Fenris, one eyebrow cocked but he was just as inscrutable and he just followed Hawke. Cullen watched as Fenris walked to the bow and took up station there, waiting patiently. Sighing, he waved the three guards that had escorted them on the boat and silently prayed to the Maker that Carver knew what he was doing.

Hawke sighed as she watched Fenris. He was she knew giving her space because he understood she had to keep her game-face on, but really it wasn’t what she wanted. Standing she went to the bow to stand next to him, and after a moment she looked at him. He hadn’t put his hood over his head yet and stood looking down at her. She studied him a moment, wondering just how he had managed to become so damn important to her. He’d said she had taught him but in truth he was teaching her with his quiet calm and when he gave her one of his barely there smiles, her own mouth twisted into one very similar. Reaching for his hand she let her fingers twist with his and laid her head on his shoulder. Fenris nodded to himself and turned his gaze out over the bow as the skiff’s sail took the wind and turned towards the city.

Cullen watched this with a thoughtful look on his face. This was literally the first sign of affection he had seen between them and he had started to wonder if his assumptions concerning the marked elf had been wrong. Looking at the young Templar that now stood off to his side, he sighed and mused how incredibly complicated love really was.

* * *

Kalina watched with a slightly amused cast to her face as her husband paced. It was a habit of his whenever he was worried or deep in thought. The fact that he hadn’t even noticed her standing in the door to the library just proved that this time it was probably both. Most people would find this habit annoying but she rather found it endearing. Clearing her throat demurely she watched his head snap up. Seeing it was her he held out his hand and smiled warmly. Completely ignoring it she slipped her arms around his waist and returned his smile.

“You are worrying about nothing,” she told him lightly. “Nothing that you have told me about this woman would lead me to believe she will do anything.”

“Yes,” Carver sighed, “But it’s not her I am worrying about.”

Kalina regarded him a moment, before reaching up to lay her hand to his cheek. When he turned his head to kiss the palm she sighed.

“Carver you are a strong, confident and assertive man. You are well and plain spoken. You survived a Blight, survived the streets of Kirkwall and you were successful in the Templars. You have learned how to run an entire city-state, and have earned the respect of your peers and friends alike. What is it about this woman that makes you so fragile?”

Carver sighed heavily, wishing the answer was that simple. Over the years he had asked himself this same question again and again and hadn’t really come to any fast answers. As much as he hated it, as much as it seemed completely inadequate, the only answer he had was that it was complicated.

“I don’t know Kalina,” he pulled her to him, enjoying the feel of her head on his shoulder and taking strength from her. “As children I think it was that she was older and was allowed things I wasn’t. I know it always annoyed me that she was such a tomboy and just had the nerve to be better at things than I was. And when she started showing signs of magic? Suddenly Father had to take time and start training her. I think a part of me resented that.”

Kalina thought about this for a moment.

“You know none of those things are her fault.”

“I know. I knew even then I think. But when Father died it was Marian that Mother leaned on, she was the one that took care of things. And Father was the one that seemed to understand this rivalry between us, knew how to work it to make sure it didn’t get out of hand. Once he was gone…” Carver shrugged. “I don’t know. Bethany understood her better than I ever did.”

Carver rarely spoke of his twin and Kalina had always understood that it was a painful subject. That he brought her up now made her wonder.

“Bethany was what? The peacemaker between the two of you?”

Carver thought about that for a moment before nodding. Bethany had been a soft touch, one with a backbone strong enough to stand between them, pointing out that they were both idiots. There wasn’t a day that passed that he didn’t miss her, didn’t wish that he had been faster. Maybe a lot of things would have turned out different if she hadn’t died that day. He did know that she would be standing here clouting the back of his head and telling him he was beyond stupid, Marian was his sister and she would never do anything that would harm him or his family. He could almost hear her now, insisting that yes, people did indeed change but some things _never_ did. That if father had taught them all anything it was the value of family and that Marian Hawke was just that - _a_ _Hawke_.

“She was a lot of things Kalina. And I miss them all.” Pulling back, when she looked up at him he pressed his lips to her forehead. “You remind me of her sometimes.”

Whatever Kalina was going to say was lost when they heard the jangle of the bells that indicated someone was outside their door. Their guests were arriving. Reaching up she straightened his jacket, smoothing it over his chest before leaning forward to brush her lips across his.

“Time to play host and hostess,” she murmured, an old joke between them.

Nodding, Carver gallantly offered his arm and she wrapped hers around it before they went out to greet the new arrivals. Aveline and Donnic were just handing off their cloaks to one of the maids as Orana, the household castellan, greeted them. Spotting Carver and Kalina as they came out of the library, Aveline left Donnic as he stopped to speak with Orana in the foyer and made for them. Smiling warmly at Kalina she looked at Carver a moment.

“Alright,” she remarked, “Here we are, all last minute. What are you up to Carver?”

“What,” he chuckled, “Makes you think I am up to anything?”

Aveline cocked her head at him and then pointed at Kalina.

“She is far too good a hostess to allow anything rushed unless she’s forced by circumstance,” Aveline observed, “And since the only circumstance of note that I am aware of is the arrival of one Marian Hawke, Champion and Viscount of Kirkwall, you’re up to something.”

Reaching out to pat his Guard Captain’s shoulder, Carver simply murmured, “Building bridges Aveline, instead of burning them.” With that he walked away to greet Donnic, leaving Aveline staring after him. Looking at Kalina, she was surprised when the usually very proper woman winked at her and took her hand, pulling her to one of the couches that lined the room.

“Twenty years,” Carver groused as Donnic smiled at him, “And she still questions me.”

“Perhaps,” Donnic chuckled, “That is why. She still remembers the young man and remembers how he didn’t always get along with Hawke.”

“Well I wish she remembered the one that stood between Marian and the Knight-Commander,” Carver sighed. “That was no small thing, for either me or Cullen.”

“She does,” Donnic looked over Carver’s shoulder to where both their wives sat, “She’s just worried. About both of you.”

“You know they all thought I joined the Templars to spite Hawke?” Carver looked at Donnic out of the corner of his eye before nodding. “And they would all be right. I just wanted as much distance as I could between us and since I couldn’t get it physically, I got it that way. But you know something? It was the best decision I ever made, even if I made it for the wrong reasons. I learned to be my own man there.”

Donnic regarded Carver, slightly surprised at the admission but then Donnic was somewhat more forgiving of Carver than the others. He had never really had any real contact with him until after Hawke’s disappearance.

“Well,” Donnic sighed, “Take it from someone who grew up with six sisters and no brothers, I know that’s not easy.”

Carver looked at Donnic a moment, aghast at this revelation.

“Six?”

“And half older the other half younger,” Donnic clarified. “If they weren’t babying me they were torturing me. And privacy? Forget it. I wasn’t allowed any but Maker forbid I stumble into one of their gossip circles and I was lucky to escape intact.” Pausing to shake his head at the memory, he then shot a conspiratorial look at the Regent. “Any questions why I came to Kirkwall to join the Guard?”

Carver just looked at Donnic a moment before shaking his head, laughing as he did.

“No.”

“Didn’t think so….”

Donnic paused when the bells again rang out, watching several emotions shot across the Regent’s face, all far too fast to be readily identified before finally he settled on one that the Guard in Donnic plainly recognized as what he liked to call the ‘fight face,’ the one you wore when you know you may just be entering a serious situation. Sighing, Carver watched as Orana and the maid, who had been sitting politely in the corner of the foyer, made for the door. Donnic politely bowed out and went to stand with Aveline and Kalina as they watched Carver straighten his back and step through the door into the foyer and out of sight.

Cullen was the first through the door, a bemused look on his face greeted Orana and handed off his cape. Behind him was Hawke, silent and slightly wide-eyed as she took in the changes Kalina had made. Gone were the simple benches and tables that had been staples in the foyer, instead there were ornate, cushioned benches, high backed chairs and tables with carved legs and vases. The walls had portraits, some Hawke probably recognized since Kalina had found them in the cellar and had them reframed, of ancestral Amells, and mirrors to make the room look larger. Rugs were artfully placed along the stone floor. When her gaze finally landed on him, she looked at him a moment before nodding wordlessly as she removed her cloak and graciously handed it to the maid. Waving Carver to silence when he would have welcomed her, she looked around again.

“I approve. Always meant to do something with this room but…” She paused to shrug as she studied the pattern of the rug on which she stood, “I just never seemed to have the time.”

“Kalina tried to use the things you and mother left,” Carver offered. “All except that statue in the library, the one that looked suspiciously like one of those tacky old god statues? I rather liked it but she insisted it went to the cellar.”

Hawke cocked her head at him, thinking about that for a moment.

“Actually it _was_ a Tevinter old god statue,” she replied. “I found it somewhere and thought to sell it. Never did get around to it.”

Carver nodded because he had suspected as much all those years ago when Kalina had put her foot down. Back then Carver had had a hard time looking at the estate as his even though Marian had left him the deed in her letter and it wasn’t until he had watched his new wife take it and make it into a home for them and the family that she knew they would have that he started to accept it. Looking at his sister, he could see she was tense, not sure what to expect and though some small part of him felt like rejoicing, the greater part felt diminished that she viewed him in that light. Sighing, he stepped forward and pulled her roughly to him and, wrapping his arms around her whispered, “Welcome home. It’s as much yours as it will ever be mine. And,” he paused a moment as he felt her hands land lightly on his waist, “I am sorry.”

She didn’t say anything, just stood there a moment before finally nodding and stepping back, but the look on her face clearly showed she was relieved. The silence began to stretch, neither entirely sure what to do to break it until Fenris laid a light hand on Hawke’s shoulder. Looking back at him, at the barely there smile, she turned back to Carver.

“I never did introduce the two of you did I?” Carver shook his head, looking at the other man thoughtfully. When she politely made introductions, both men nodded to the other, both eyeing the other cautiously and not entirely sure what to do with the other. Before they could come to any conclusion Kalina decided she could wait patiently no longer. Appearing at her husband’s side, slipping her arm around his, she looked at Hawke a moment before turning her attention to Carver.

“You scoundrel, where are your manners?” she teased. “Keeping our guests standing at the doorstep!”

While she clucked disapprovingly Carver’s mouth twisted into a wry smile.

“Kalina, may I please introduce my sister Marian.” Turning his wry smile on his sister, he politely continued, “And Hawke it is my greatest pleasure to introduce to you you’re sister-in-law, my wife Kalina.”

When the petite chestnut haired woman at Carver’s arm turned a warm smile at her and without much thought reached out to embrace her, Hawke was at a loss. When Kalina pulled back, her hands still on Hawke’s arms and welcomed her home, she decided she liked Carver’s wife, even if she still wasn’t entirely sure about him. Quietly introducing Fenris, she was a little relieved when Kalina took the situation in hand and welcoming everyone, shooed them through the door.

“Hawke?”

Her head snapped when she heard a voice that had echoed inside her head for years. More times than she cared to count she had faced a situation she was unsure about and had silently asked herself ‘what would Aveline do’ to decide. Her face was weathered, there was grey mixed into the ginger, but there she was, head still high and that odd mix of Ferelden and Orlesian accents still lilting in her voice. Without a thought for propriety Hawke made for her, arms out and tears springing unbidden to her eyes. Aveline met her similarly and when they embraced, holding tightly to the other, Aveline was the one to speak first.

“Hawke,” she scolded lightly, “You’re making me cry and that will do nothing for my reputation.”

“Yours!” Hawke returned, her voice deep with emotion, “What about mine? What slayer of dragons, darkspawn, Qunari and blood mages, forget the Champion of Kirkwall blithers like an idiot?”

“Apparently,” Donnic supplied as he came to Hawke’s rescue with a handkerchief, “The ones that hang around with Guard Captains that do.”

Aveline waved a hand at his gentle sarcasm as she pulled a handkerchief of her own out and both women regarded each other as they wiped at their tears. Finally Hawke just sighed and reached out and pulled Aveline into another embrace, this one less wet.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you as well, Hawke,” Aveline sighed, “Even if I didn’t particularly miss your antics.”

Chuckling Hawke pulled away, looking her oldest friend over once more.

“You’re wearing,” she commented wryly, “A dress.”

“So are you,” Aveline snorted.

“Yes, but I had no choice at various points in my life but to bow to my gender and wear them. You on the other hand, the only time I have ever seen you in a dress was the day you got married.”

Deciding to completely ignore Hawke, she turned her attention to the only man in the room she did not recognize. Taking the elf in, she decided that if she were to wait for Hawke she might never know his name.

“I am Aveline Hendyr, Captain of the Kirkwall City Guard and this is my husband Gardsman Donnic,” she supplied directly, as was her wont.

“Fenris,” was the simple reply she received.

“Fenris,” she repeated thoughtfully, politely inclining her head. “Is that a Tevinter accent?”

Cocking an eyebrow at this woman that he knew Hawke held in high regard, he nodded, a little impressed that she had picked that up from one word. When she regarded him pensively, Fenris decided he had had enough. Being sociable was not his strong suit and probably never would be. Strangers put his guard up and in groups… well Hawke might be good with words but he was not. The second everyone’s attention was somewhere else, he retreated to stand near a door with the younger Templar. The two older ones had remained respectfully in the foyer and Fenris was just a little curious about this one. Something about him bothered him in a way Fenris could not put a finger to.

One thing Fenris had noticed was that his silence seemed to disturb people and as often as not, if he were patient, they would eventually feel the need to fill it. As they stood watching as the small group began talking, Hawke becoming more and more animated as she began telling stories about Seheron to them, he began noticing the young man looking at him. Leaving it that way for a bit, he finally turned to regard the Templar.

“You come from Tevinter?” he finally asked.

“Yes, if that is what you wish to call it,” Fenris replied lightly. “I was a slave there.”

The young man frowned disapprovingly, turning his blue eyes to the floor a moment.

“My mother was a slave there as well,” he finally returned. “She stowed away in a crate on a ship to escape. Ended up here in Kirkwall.”

Fenris didn’t respond, figuring there was more to it.

“Turned out the crate she stowed away in belonged to a Templar. She was literally delivered to the Gallows along with a rug he had ordered.”

Fenris chuckled, picturing this scene is his mind as the crate was opened and out popped a woman. The boy looked at him a moment and decided not to take offense.

“She told me he was very kind about it. Had a healer look her over and made sure she was fed. Apparently being nailed into a crate for almost a month is hard on you. Good thing the one she chose was being delivered to Kirkwall and not Antiva. She might not have survived it.”

Fenris nodded.

“She’s still here. In the Gallows. She was a mage so the Templars just couldn’t let her go.”

Fenris had to pause at the irony of that before looking at the young man.

“I thought children born to mages were taken away.”

“Oh I was,” he assured him. “Raised in the Chantry in Starkhaven.”

“Then I am surprised they allowed you to recruit into the same Circle that housed your mother.”

“Not many Circles left,” the boy sighed. “But my father saw to it. Said that the Circles needed to change, that the Templars needed to change, that mages deserved to expect something besides imprisonment.”

Fenris let one eyebrow rise questioningly but kept his silence.

“The Knight-Commander.”

Fenris looked silently at Cullen, standing across the room watching Fenris and suddenly he understood that this conversation was not as accidental as he had first assumed. Cullen simply went back to the conversation across the room, leaving Fenris none the wiser for his inspection. All conversation however was interrupted by a loud, boisterous “Aveline!” As it echoes among the rafters a boy not more than seven came charging down the stairs, making a beeline for the Guard Captain.

“Lasota,” Kalina scolded gently, “What have I told you about running on the stairs?”

“Not to.”

“Why then,” she asked patiently, “Do you continue to insist?”

Lasota shrugged and wrapped an arm around Aveline, looking up at her when she ruffled his hair.

“You should listen to your mother boy,” she sighed. “She would be ever so sad if you fell and broke something.”

“Yes,” Carver interjected as he eyed his son meaningfully, “Like your little neck?”

Lasota dropped his head and studied the end of his shoe a moment before muttering, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Carver said, letting his tone go light as he knelt and hooked his son’s chin to make him meet his eye. “The idea here is to not _need_ to be sorry in the first place. Understand?”

When Lasota nodded Carver smiled to show he was forgiven and pulled his son to him, giving him a rough hug before again standing. As he did he caught the look on Hawke’s face and knew she recognized their own father’s words because he had said this exact same thing to both of them enough times.

“If it isn’t broke…” he shrugged.

“Then don’t try fixing it.” Hawke nodded.

Aveline watched as the two of them regarded one another a moment before they both broke into grins. Maybe, just maybe this building bridges idea was going to work. Fenris watched the goings on before he looked back at the young Templar a moment, deciding he wasn’t sure he wanted to play Cullen’s games. But before abandoning him to return to Hawke’s side, he regarded him thoughtfully.

“What is your name boy?”

“Kirill.”

Nodding he walked away, leaving the Templar to his own devices. Falling back to training, he took up an unobtrusive stance behind Hawke, far enough away to stay out of immediate notice but close enough to be available should the need arise, gritting his teeth when he noticed Cullen looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Cullen wanted to play games and Fenris knew he was ill-equipped to for this subtly. Ignoring him and the Guard Captain he was in conversation with, he turned his attention to Hawke.

“Hawke,” Carver was saying as he laid a hand on the boy’s head, “I’d like to introduce you to my oldest son, Lasota.”

Hawke blinked at Carver before leaning down to Lasota’s level, holding out her hand very seriously.

“Hello Lasota, my name is Marian and I am your aunt.”

Lasota took her hand without reservation and shook it formally, studying her thoughtfully.

“You look like the lady in the picture,” he observed thoughtfully, “The one over the fireplace.”

Hawke glanced up and saw that next to a portrait of Carver and Kalina was one of their mother, one she had had commissioned shortly after reclaiming the Amell estate. Sighing she realized that her mother hadn’t been more than ten years older than she was now when that picture had been done and silently wondering where all those years had gone, she looked back at Lasota and smiled. “She’s our mother so I guess it’s fitting that I look like her.”

“But father doesn’t look like her.”

“No, he doesn’t, not much.” Hawke looked up at Carver a moment before returning to Lasota. “He looks a lot like our father though. And our uncle Gamlen but,” she paused to smirk when she saw Carver’s eyes roll, “We won’t tell him that.”

Lasota nodded, not sure who Gamlen was since the old codger had died when he was too young to remember and Hawke stood, cocking a head at Carver.

“Oldest son?”

Carver smirked and pointed at Kalina, who during her conversation with Lasota had gone to retrieve the rest of his brood from the maid who had tried to bring them downstairs with some sense of propriety, though her oldest had had his own thoughts on that subject. Hawke took in the little girl hiding behind her mother’s skirts and the baby in her arms and looked at Carver a moment. He’d written her, telling her about the wedding, and the birth of the oldest but he had conveniently left out the other two. He sighed.

“You know I was never good at letters Hawke,” he confessed. “I just kept putting it off and….” He shrugged.

Hawke watched as he regarded the floor and decided she couldn’t be angry at him, he looked way too much like Lasota had and she was reminded of him doing this same thing when _their_ father had scolded _him_. Before she could think of something to say, Kalina stepped in to rescue the situation by looking down at her daughter.

“This little thing being shy behind me is our daughter,” she pronounced in a light tone.

Gratefully taking the hint, Carver bent down and picked up his daughter, smiling to himself when she bashfully wrapped her arms around his neck and, pressing her cheek to his, regarded the strangers in the room. Turning to press a kiss to her cheek, he whispered to her, “I would really appreciate it if you would say hello to my sister. She’s never met you and is ever so excited to be your friend.” When she turned to look at him, he smiled and nodded at her. “Think you can do that for me?” He watched as she gave it the due consideration of a four year old before nodding. “Thank you.”

Carver didn’t seem to notice that this little exchange had most of the adults smiling and when he turned to Hawke, he very formally introduced his only daughter.

“Marian, I would like to introduce your niece, Leandra.”

Hawke’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked at Carver a moment before smiling at the little girl in his arms. She had to swallow at the lump in her throat a couple of times but managed to keep her tone light.

“Hello Leandra,” she tipped her head formally, “My name is Marian, but most people call me Hawke.”

Leandra considered that a second.

“That’s my last name.”

“Mine as well, which is why I’m called that.”

Leandra thought about that, studying the woman before smiling shyly.

“Everyone calls me Leandra, ‘cept Lasota. He calls me Andi ‘cause he knows I hate it.” She paused to look around as the adults all chuckled at her tone, and straightening up she looked around at them indignantly. “Well I do!”

“It’s okay,” Hawke smirked at Carver a second, “That’s what brother’s do.”

Leandra sighed dramatically and nodded.

“I know.”

Kalina stepped up, tipping her arms so that Hawke could look at the sleeping baby she held.

“This is Gerold,” she smiled down at her child proudly. “Our newest.”

Hawke smiled down over Kalina’s shoulder, taking in the sleeping newborn wrapped in blankets and nestled in his mother’s arms. Even now you could see Carver’s jaw and Kalina’s soft brow as it furrowed at something in his dreams. Reaching out she ran a finger along the back of the tiny hand that had a firm hold on the edge of the blanket he was wrapped in, amazed as always at how soft babies were.

“He’s beautiful.”

Kalina smirked, completely agreeing but, knowing all mothers believed it to be true, enjoyed the confirmation of her views. Looking at up at Carver, she realized that she was never prouder of him than when she looked at her children. He had given her everything she needed to create these tiny marvels to give back to him and in doing so build a life together. He was her soul mate, the one thing she would ever need to be truly happy and content in this world. She could see that he had read her thoughts when one side of his mouth ticked up in a small, crooked smile that she couldn’t help but return. Glancing at Hawke, who was still gazing at her youngest, her smile deepened. She recognized that look.

“Would you like to hold him?”

Hawke nodded mutely and Kalina gently turned him over, bending down to press a gentle kiss to the dark downy head before stepping away to pull Carver away to join the conversation between Aveline and Cullen. Donnic, who was not much invested in the topic, was watching Hawke and the man who stood just beyond her as she smiled down at the child in her arms. The look on her face was easy enough to read, it was one he had seen often enough. It was the one that most all women wore when they realized that they were holding something so new and so precious and it pulled at something in them. His look was a little more subtle, mostly giving away nothing but there was a flash of something gentle in his eye as he watched her, completely belying the guarded stance he took and a tiny smile pulled at his mouth.

The Guard in Donnic recognized all these things because in the end to be a good Guard, one had to understand what one was guarding _and_ what one was guarding _against_. You had to understand people, in all their forms and see what they were about in a quick glance if possible. Hawke was never that simple and he remembered more than one tense conversation with his wife about her back in the day. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, he did. He just didn’t always approve of her much and his wife’s fast friendship with her fellow refugee sometimes ran against not only the Guard in him, but also the streak of protectiveness that he carried for his wife. He recognized the echo of that same protectiveness in this odd, reticent elf in his fancy armor and unusual tattoos and knew instinctively that any man willing or indeed able to take on this complicated woman and all her baggage had to be equally complex.

Stepping away from the group he was effectively hanging at the margins of, he decided to see if he could get a better feel for this Fenris. Seeing him coming Fenris sighed to himself and schooled his features accordingly. Donnic saw the hardening of his face but it didn’t deter him because he understood it. Stopping next to Fenris, he followed the man’s eye and watched as Hawke rubbed her cheek to the soft shock of hair Gerold sported, considering his words carefully.

“You know, it’s a shame Hawke never had any children,” he glanced at Fenris from the corner of his eye before continuing, “For all the fierceness she wants to show the world, she tends to mother everyone around her. She would make a good one I think.”

Fenris grunted, letting that be his only response as he considered what Donnic had said.

“Of course,” Donnic chuckled wryly, “If she’s still anything like she was when she was here in Kirkwall, someone would need to tame her a bit. Her tricks are still legend in the city even if they are embellished a bit.”

That got a reaction Donnic noticed as Fenris rolled his eyes at the subtle reference to her nearly constant companion and self proclaimed chronicler Varric. Apparently this man didn’t entirely approve of Varric’s stories and Donnic had to admit that put him up a notch in his estimation.

“I do not think there is anyone on all the face of Thedas that could as you put it, ‘tame’ Hawke,” Fenris finally replied. “The best that could be done is convince her she has no reason to fight.”

“Maybe so, maybe so,” Donnic nodded. “But that in of itself might prove a challenge.”

Fenris turned his head to regard the husband of the Guard Captain a moment, rolling that around in his head before nodding his assent. Apparently this man understood Hawke better than he would have given credit, understood she had reasons for keeping her guard up even as she let people inside her defenses. When Donnic met his eye unflinchingly, Fenris also understood that this restrained man was _not_ playing games. He was being as direct as polite conversation would allow.

“Hawke is a great many things,” Fenris finally allowed, “And the woman you knew here is just a part of it. Trouble may seem to follow her but I think that is only because she is keen enough to recognize a problem and bold enough to address it. Wisdom is earned by pain and she’s earned a lot of it.” Turning his gaze back to Hawke, he sighed. “I have to respect that, even if I don’t always agree with it.”

Donnic nodded, catching his wife’s eye as she noticed the two men off to the side and winking at her.

“That I can understand,” he replied. “My wife thinks a great deal of Hawke. In a lot of ways they are alike because Aveline has spent years trying to mother Hawke, trying to discipline that wild streak she has inside her. Didn’t always do much good and got my wife drug into some seriously uncomfortable situations, for her _and_ me. I may not always think much of her methods but I have never really faulted her intentions. She’s a good woman.”

Fenris nodded as Donnic fell silent and the two men stood in what could only be described as a companionable silence. Fenris was not a believer in snap judgments, was a firm believer in knowing precisely what to expect before giving anything away but since meeting Hawke and finding himself thrown into a relationship where nothing was entirely cut and dried he found himself more forgiving of the details. And this new view of others allowed him to decide, right then and there, that he rather liked this man. The rest would come or not, as time allowed.

Hawke finally noticed that she had been left to her own devices and looking up saw the two men standing together. Donnic wore a pleasant smile but Fenris, although much more relaxed than she would have given credit in the presence of the guardsman, was looking at the child in her arms with a look she couldn’t quite identify. Something almost… sad. When he looked up at her she suddenly realized what he was thinking and wandering over to him, she turned her back so he could look over her shoulder. When his hands landed gently on her shoulder she leaned back against him, ignoring the bite of his breastplate, and pressed her lips to his cheek.

“They’re fine, I promise you,” she whispered. “Jerost wouldn’t allow anything to happen to them.”

It surprised him, this little feat of mindreading that she had just done. His thoughts _had_ just suddenly turned to Tansina and her children and his oath to protect them. Although this child brought back memories of Leto Fenris knew that Warrick’s son would be nearing a year old now and would no longer resemble this child of Carver’s. Turning to look down at her, her head laid back on his shoulder, he decided that perhaps it shouldn’t surprise him that she understood where his mind had taken him and nodded. She smiled as he turned his gaze back over her shoulder and looking at him she suddenly could not help from trying to picture him so small and fragile, tucked in his mother’s arms the way Gerold was in hers.

Looking up at the portrait of her own mother hanging over the mantle of the massive fireplace, she felt a wave of sadness wash across her. Not only for her loss but for Carver because he had suffered the same, for his children because they would never know this woman’s biting wit or gentle touch and for Fenris because he could remember nothing of his own mother. Even if his heart could hear the echoes of this relationship, Danarius had stolen from him all the important details that made those echoes real and in doing so, damaged him. That foundation helped create the ability to trust and she knew even now Fenris trusted in little beyond himself. Of all the honors that had been heaped on her head in her life she found none quite so humbling as his simple trust in her and deep inside her she hoped she could live up to it.


	39. Chapter 39

Fantin regarded the well disguised door and its lock with an air of disdain. The household of a ruler should never be this easy to infiltrate and he debated if he should tell Hawke to look to the security of her brother. It would go against his Crow brotherhood to do so but that had rarely slowed him down in the past. The fast brotherhood of the assassin’s guild was something that every Crow depended on in the lower ranks, less so once one got to a certain standing. Those with the talent and the drive to ascend through the ranks were often the same ones that took this camaraderie as a suggestion and a convenience more than a rule and having connections outside the brotherhood was often… more convenient.

Sighing, he glanced around at the sewer tunnels of Darktown again, looking for any unneeded attention as he had been for more than a few moments. Hidden as he was in rough clothes, dirt and a cloak against the cold wind that blew through the openings in the cavernous sewers that looked down over the carved entrance into the harbor he knew he blended in with the locals. To any passing glance he would just be a man sitting huddled against the cold but…. As a former teacher once told him, old habits were old because they had never failed you. Deciding that there was no one in the dark that was paying him any mind, he silently slipped through the door.

Ignoring the torch that sat propped against the wall, he took the steps in the complete darkness slowly, throwing back his hood so that he could use his superior elven hearing. When he reached the top and found himself in a cavernous room, the only sounds his own in the enveloping dark he decided perhaps it was safe to have a little light. Carefully he pulled out a rough stick of wood, maybe the length of his forearm and smelling harshly of the sulfur one end had been soaked in, from a pocket sewn into the lining of the cloak and a piece of parchment out of a pouch on his belt. Wrinkling his nose at the combined smell of rotton eggs and garlic, he rubbed the parchment along the end of the stick until the chemical soaked into the parchment and the sulfur reacted and the stick caught fire. Musing to himself that the occasional contact with Tal-Vashoth that his assassins had was often productive in the oddest ways, he held up his new light source and scanned the room. It was filled with the cast-offs of lives that the owners of the house couldn’t or wouldn’t discard as he expected but again old habits forced him to poke around a bit. One never knew what one might find hidden in the refuse or treasures of another man that might prove useful in the future.

Finding nothing more interesting than a well stocked wine cellar, and oddly enough a particularly ugly example of a Tevinter old god statue hiding in a corner under an old sheet, he sighed and turned his eye to the stairs that would lead him to a hallway between the kitchens and the servant’s quarters in the back of the estate. Or at least that was the information he had and though as often as not this trove of sometimes completely useless information that the Crows collected and kept was correct, sometimes it fell short in ways that would cost a life and tonight he had no plans on dying. He had plans for later.

* * *

Shrawn eyed Varric with a look that plainly told him she thought he was full of shit. What kind of shit she wasn’t quite sure, but shit none the less. Throwing back his head and laughing at her, it took a few minutes for him to finally find his voice again as she continued to look at him doubtfully over the cup she took a long sip from. Over the last week Varric had taken to spending time on the Wolf of Rivain and had decided that now he remembered why he had rather liked this woman in the past. She certainly didn’t accept any of his crap that was for sure.

“No, honestly,” he finally gasped, hand held to his chest as he managed to take his own drink of the dwarven ale they were both imbibing, something else that took her up in his estimation. “We really _did_ find a nest of dragons in the Bone Pit. I am _not_ making this up.”

“I always thought that was some tale the miners dreamed up to not work for a few days.”

“No no no,” Varric smiled. “They probably found the only surviving dragons in the Free Marches when they accidentally knocked down that wall. Or at least their brood anyway. We found _her_ later that day and let me tell you what, dragons are _no_ _fun_.”

She chuckled at the suddenly serious expression Varric wore as he remembered that fight, one that had come close to ending Hawke’s life. If it hadn’t been for her draining herself completely to freeze the beast she might have been able to heal herself but as it was, Varric had ended the dragon’s life with a bolt from Bianca dead center in the creature’s eye as it stood frozen and it had fallen to a weakened Anders to save Hawke from bleeding out. It was a testament to the man’s skills that the scar was no more notable than the others Hawke sported. Sometimes he rather missed the apostate Grey Warden, regardless of the end he had finally come to. He had, if nothing else, led an interesting life and had more than a few entertaining stories to tell. Stories that Varric had faithfully written down so that maybe someday someone would understand there was more to the man than what his passenger Justice had made of him.

“Well,” Shrawn replied lightly as she sat her cup down, drawing his attention back to her, “I wouldn’t expect them to be fun. Me? I would have just peed myself and ran for all I was worth.”

 “We had to clear the mine,” Varric shrugged, trying to put a lighter spin on the fact that they hadn’t. “Otherwise it wouldn’t have been safe for the miners and having fully grown and breeding dragons that close to the city would not have been a good idea.”

“Dragons?”

Varric sighed.

“Yeah, we found the male a bit later. _He_ was even _more_ fun than the female….”

He was interrupted by a polite knock on the door of Shrawn’s cabin. Shrawn sighed and sitting back in her chair, called for whomever it was to enter. Both of them blinked when they saw it was Vicenzo because no one had seen hide nor hair of the two Crows since they had reached Kirkwall. He nodded a silent greeting as he pushed the door shut behind him and walking to Varric, held out a parchment. Varric blinked before taking it and unfolding it, he read its contents. It was from Master Fantin and he had to read it twice before it completely sank in what he was reading. Looking over the page at Shrawn a moment, eyes narrowed as he considered the consequences of this letter to their cause, he finally slid down from the human sized chair he’d been sitting in.

“What?” Shrawn looked from man to man waiting patiently.

“I need to get back to the Siren’s Call Shrawn,” Varric explained as he nodded to Vicenzo. “I can’t explain right now, but I will I promise.”

Shrawn’s back went straight and she cocked her head as she watched the two men leave. Sighing at the door as it closed behind them she drained her cup and leaned back in her chair again, thoughtful.

As they put foot to the dock, Varric looked up at Vicenzo and asked, “He’s sure?”

“Yes.”

“We need to get this to Hawke.”

“Master Fantin is doing that now.”

Varric pulled short, staring up at the usually silent man, head cocked and eyebrows high.

“How exactly is he doing that?”

Vicenzo shrugged, not volunteering anything more than absolutely needed. Varric shook his head and headed for the Siren’s Call, not really paying any attention to whether the Crow followed or not.

* * *

Crouching by the door Fantin listened attentively to the comings and goings from the kitchen just up the hall. If he wasn’t too mistaken, from the snatches of conversation he was hearing as the servants passed, not only was dinner underway, but one of the scullery maids was pregnant by one of the Guards assigned to guard the house. Snorting, he was starting to understand why it was so easy to break into a Viscount’s estate. When finally the hallway fell silent, he slipped through the door and padded down the hall to the servant’s quarters. Most were busy with the dinner, but a few were in their rooms. A majority of those left had their doors shut, but at least two he had to carefully pass to keep from attracting attention. At the back of this hall was a door, one which led to a small courtyard so that deliveries could be made to the kitchens without bothering the more important inhabitants of the house. Here there was a single Guard, but few torches to light the space.

Shaking his head disapprovingly at the lack of light, he quietly made his way from shadow to shadow until he found himself looking up at a window. It lead, he knew to another hallway, this one belonging to the hall along which the sleeping quarters of the Regent and his family were spaced. Keeping an ear to the Guard, who was conveniently keeping his attention focused out the arched entrance to the courtyard and showing no signs of moving any time soon, Fantin examined the wall before him until he found several spots where the mortar between the heavy granite blocks had begun to erode. Using a knife to pick at these spots and carefully catching and setting aside the rubble, he finally stuck the knife between his teeth and began climbing until he was at the window, hanging probably the height of two humans from the ground. Holding tight to the seal with one hand he pushed up on the window and was completely unsurprised when it gave easily.

Sighing, he decided he was definitely going to have to have a talk with the Regent about the sad state of the security in his home. This was far too easy and it in a way offended him that this had not turned out to be more of a challenge than it was. Even if this Carver managed to live an entire life without offending someone with the resources to secure the services of a Crow he was bound to offend someone at some point. Not only that, being the leader of a city-state, he was sure to have things that any thief would give an arm to take, not to mention spies. It was… shameful.

Once he was inside the hall, this one silent as everyone was downstairs at the party, he made his way down the dimly lit hallway to where it opened up to a balcony overlooking the main hall and beyond that, through a simple doorway, the foyer. Here there was an armed man without armor and in the foyer he could see two more similarly dressed individuals. These, he mused must be the Templars that had accompanied them from the Gallows. Their leader, he was sure, was in the dining hall with the rest of them.

Deciding this might prove the only challenge of this excursion because the two Templars in the foyer were guarding the door and from their positions they had a wonderful view of the brightly lit balcony and the one standing at the bottom of the stairs would see anyone coming down the stairs, Fantin decided to sit back on his heels and wait a moment to see what might happen. Watching and listening, he considered what had brought him here. For two days he and Vicenzo had studied the Gallows, trying to figure out if there was a way to get a message to Hawke discreetly. Finally deciding that the Templars knew their security far better apparently than did the Guard, Fantin had finally pretty much decided that he would have to just walk to the front door and announce himself. When his spies had told him that Hawke was being moved, he had hoped maybe to avoid the Templars altogether but it was starting to look like that might not be the case. Either way, Hawke needed the information he had.

* * *

Fenris sat looking around the table rather uncomfortably. He was far too used to being one of those hanging to the fringes of these sorts of things and was unsure of himself and his place here. Kalina had, as was the custom in polite society, split the couples up and he found himself sitting at the end of the table that was closest to her and sitting next to Aveline and across from Donnic. Hawke was at the other end of the table with Carver and Cullen. For the majority of the meal the people around him seemed to accept his silent observation and left him to it. It wasn’t until the dessert was brought that Aveline apparently decided it was time to include him.

“So,” she finally asked, her voice light, “Exactly how did you and Hawke meet?”

Fenris paused, using the fact that his mouth was full to consider the best way answer to that. He wasn’t entirely sure how to so finally he just decided on the simple truth.

“She freed me.”

“Just like that?” Aveline cocked an eyebrow at him. “There has to be more to this story.”

“There is.”

“And?”

“Ask Hawke.”

Aveline chuckled and shook her head. She knew she could ask Hawke and knew that Hawke would tell her, that wasn’t the point. Using her spoon to point at the elf as he continued to eat, she replied, “It’s as much your story as hers. I’d like to know your part in it.”

Fenris regarded the Guard Captain a moment, face giving away nothing and knowing that this little exchange had attracted the attention of Cullen as he sat next to her.

“I was the personal bodyguard of a Tevinter Magister. Hawke killed him for reasons of her own and refused to leave me to my fate,” he finally supplied, knowing that Cullen already knew or suspected that much. “At the time I thought I was being stolen, maybe to be sold. As it would turn out, his assassin had more humanity in her pinky than the whole of Minrathous and she freed me instead.”

Aveline glanced at Hawke, deep in some conversation with Carver and nodded.

“When we first came here there were hundreds of Ferelden refugees. Most escaped with nothing or sold everything they had to get here. The lucky ones found themselves in Lowtown, but most were holed up in Darktown. More than a few still are actually.” She paused to meet Fenris’s eye. “And so were the slavers. Anyone not careful back then could easily find themselves on a ship to Tevinter and not just the Fereldens. Hawke hated them and never missed a chance to send them packing, usually licking a few fresh wounds and carrying their dead.”

Fenris nodded.

“You notice Orana? The castellan? She’s a former Tevinter slave too.” Aveline paused, knowing that Cullen was listening and thinking that some things about Hawke he didn’t need to know. “Long story short, we ended up going through some slavers to find someone, and not the homegrown variety either, these were from Tevinter complete with their own mages. By the time it was over there were a lot of dead Tevinters, a fair number of freed citizens and these two Tevinter slaves.” Aveline shrugged. “Hawke sent them both here. This wasn’t long after she was made Champion and she gave them jobs. Took forever for Orana to stop calling Hawke ‘master.’ She really did hate that.”

Fenris looked at the elven woman to which Aveline was referring, standing at the doorway which lead to the kitchens, supervising the servants.

“Back then I think maybe Hawke looked at slavery and saw the Circle,” Aveline paused to look at Cullen and hold a hand up, forestalling the protest she knew the Knight-Commander would issue. “And if we are all perfectly honest, in those days the Circle was a bit of a prison. Meredith was too paranoid of mages to offer many freedoms at all beyond their right to exist.” Cullen’s mouth snapped shut but he didn’t comment. “And Hawke was young, impressionable then. By the time she became Champion she was beginning to see that the Circle, bad as it was then, served a purpose. Slavery might serve a purpose but it isn’t one without sane alternatives.”

Fenris watched Cullen think that one over a moment and nod.

“The Circle,” he finally allowed, “Is to protect people. Not just the ones with no magic either, it’s to protect mages, from those that would do them harm and from themselves. Sometimes the Chantry’s methods are… taken to extreme, I will grant you that. But in truth all it takes is one man or woman to create situations that can cost innocent lives when so much is at stake.”

Hawke, who had noticed the turn of conversation at the other end of the table, sat quietly listening. She knew that Cullen wasn’t just thinking of Meredith, he was also thinking of his time in the Ferelden Circle. He had confessed to her about this part of his past one night, trying to argue with her that Meredith’s views, though brutally executed, were essentially right.

“But when you treat all mages like they are looking to use any methods available to escape the scrutiny of the Templars,” she argued now as she had then, “You are accusing them. And if you accuse them often enough they will decide that they might as well do what they are being accused of because in the end, what is the difference? It’s basic human nature Cullen.” She paused to point at Orana, who stood not far from her, “She was told she was a slave, only worth the work she could perform and how well she performed it. And if she’s honest with you, she probably still thinks that way even if she does realize that now she won’t be beaten or killed for failing a task. All because she was told often enough that she came to believe it. It’s the same thing.”

“But Templars must watch over mages….”

“And I am not arguing that Cullen,” Hawke interrupted. “I’m arguing how it is done. You can’t strip people of everything, every possession, every family tie, every simple human dignity and expect that they will simply accept it when they have done _nothing_ wrong. And if we are brutally honest, most of the mages that were housed in the Circles never did _anything_ wrong. And do not hold the Kirkwall Circle up as an example,” she warned. “Because we both know there were extenuating circumstances here. I would still love to wring the Grey Wardens a new ass for knowingly….”

“Hawke you cannot blame it all on that,” Cullen sat back and sighed. “What happened with your Mother didn’t start here.”

“No,” Carver interjected lightly, “But it certainly ended here didn’t it? At _her_ hand, _not_ ours because Orsino was too afraid to come to the Templars with what he knew. If he had then my Mother might still be alive but every mage in Kirkwall would have suffered for this man’s insanity. Meredith would have seen to that and we _both_ know it.”

Cullen sighed. This was not how he had pictured this.

“Look,” he finally gave, “I would like to hope that my reign as Knight-Commander has been better than Meredith’s. That my charges do not fear my Templars and that Vistana would never fear to come to me with something so important. I have worked hard to identify the bad seeds and send them packing. I have worked _exceedingly_ hard to see to it that Starkhaven has Templars of the same caliber as Kirkwall. I have worked hardest to find a balance with First Enchanter Vistana, one that allows mages contact with their families, that allows them some of these freedoms you argued so vehemently with me over while you were here Hawke. I _do_ listen, and I _do_ understand.”

“Well believe it or not Cullen, so do I,” Hawke allowed. “I _do_ understand that I absolutely epitomize what you stand against. But you also have to understand that I would not argue with you if I believed that it was hopeless to do so. If there is no dialogue, there can be no hope of change now can there? And there can be no trust. I trust you not to do anything to me for voicing my opinions and I hope that you trust me enough to know that I will never do or say anything that I think will harm even the lowest inside the walls of this city, mage or no.”

Cullen regarded her for a long moment before nodding.

“You would have made a much better First Enchanter than you ever have Viscount, you do realize this right?”

Hawke blinked at Cullen a few times before finally throwing her head back and laughing. Cullen’s lips quirked up in an ironic grin as he watched her wiping tears from her eyes as she struggled to control herself.

“Maybe so, very possibly so,” she finally agreed. “But you would have _hated_ me there. Vistana has some give to her even when she is on a tizzy. I don’t. You know that.”

Cullen nodded, allowing she was right.

“No,” Hawke finally sighed, “I think I am best as the Champion. A Champion’s job is relatively black and white – protect. I am good at that and it plays to my strengths. So long as you do not harm anyone under my care? Live thee a long and profitable life. But do not expect to threaten anything or anyone I hold dear and expect that I will not answer you with whatever means are at my disposal.”

Fenris could see that most of the people at the table were considering that remark carefully, watching as she calmly picked up her spoon and finally took a bite of the thick apple pottage garnished with cinnamon and ginger that was their dessert. Smiling she looked over at Orana and nodded.

“My compliments to the cooks,” she said. “There are a great many things I’ve missed while in Seheron, apples were one.”

Orana’s smile all but beamed, the compliment taken very much to heart because she was the one that had suggested the dish, remembering Hawke’s affinity for apples.

“It was one of my father’s recipes.”

Hawke nodded, remembering the older man as fondly as she did Orana. Her father had taken over the kitchens and his unfailingly good humor, homespun advice and habit of always, day or night having something available to eat had made his domain a popular place in the household. The fact that the former slave had died happy and content in a warm bed and surrounded by people who cared for him was one of the things in her life that Hawke was proud of. She also knew that his impending death was made easier for him knowing that his daughter would always have a place in the Amell estate. Hawke had seen to that, even when she had abandoned her holdings and title.

“Tell me,” Hawke smirked mischievously at her brother, “Has Carver treated you well? If not I can soundly spank him for you.”

Orana blinked, blushing to the roots of her blonde hair as Carver shot Hawke a look that plainly said what he thought of that. Chuckling at both of them, she took another bite of the pottage thoughtfully before looking back at Carver.

“You’ve done well for yourself Carver,” she finally allowed. “Kirkwall has prospered under your leadership. And,” she used her spoon to point at Aveline, “I have it on good authority that you are a right bitch, one that makes ‘doing business’ in Kirkwall more trouble than it’s worth most of the time.”

Aveline paused, spoon halfway to her mouth to make a rude noise.

“Not sure I want to know what parts _that_ came from and how you came to be in possession of such an opinion of me but,” she considered the sentiment a second before continuing, “Thank you.”

“I knew you would appreciate it.”

Carver thoughtfully regarded his sometimes refined and sometimes rough natured sister as she went back to her dessert, still wondering about the defiant tone and hardened look she had taken on as she had declared herself Champion. That she still felt a responsibility to his city-state he had never questioned, but that simple declaration made him to wonder what it was that had forced her to abandon a life she had built in favor of one she had fled? Aveline had shared with him her conversation with Varric and also from her he knew of the Qunari woman that was on the Siren’s Call. The war between Tevinter and the Qunari Empire was nothing new and was in fact something that Hawke had made herself a part in. What had her tail feathers in such a spin now? Turning his thoughtful gaze from her to Cullen, he wondered if he should share this information with him. That he until now hadn’t when before he had kept very little from him over the years made the part of him that was Cullen’s friend feel bad, but the part of him that was trying to look after the welfare of not just an entire city-state but also that of his family, Hawke included it would seem, felt that this was something maybe best kept close to the vest for now. The Chantry’s distaste for anything smacking of Tevinter was well documented and though he knew Cullen’s views were a little more tempered, he was still a Templar.

Hawke sighed, suddenly realizing how tired she really was. Not just mentally but deep down into her bones. Glancing around the table, she blinked when she realized that Fenris, who for the greatest part of the dinner had sat silent, was now explaining to Aveline the intricacies of Tevinter politics. One thing, she supposed, he did have some working intimate knowledge of. Carver followed her eye and seeing that the conversation between the two had attracted the attention of the others at the table, he leaned over.

“He is unusual Hawke.”

“Yes,” Hawke glanced at her brother and sighed. “He is. If he had been born anywhere else that man would be successful in whatever he chose to do. As it is he is extremely good at what he was _forced_ to do.”

Carver regarded her a moment.

“You don’t think he would have chosen a martial life?”

“Maybe,” she replied. “But I don’t think so. He has the soul of a philosopher Carver, hidden under all that. And if we are honest with ourselves there are very few of those who choose a life of war. Most that do? Do so because it was forced on them by circumstance, like him.”

Carver nodded, allowing that she was probably right in most cases.

“Cullen tells me you freed him,” Carver remarked. “I have to wonder, why didn’t he go his own way? He seems a bold enough type.”

Hawke sat looking at Fenris a moment as he sat talking amicably with Kalina and Aveline.

“I think freedom is a scary concept for someone who hasn’t ever known it Carver, much the same as slavery is a scary concept for me. Aveline is right you know,” her mouth twisted as she considered her words, “I did look at the Circle as something akin to slavery for a long time. I’ve seen the real thing, I’ve literally lived with what it does not just to the slaves but to the society practicing it and I know that I was to a certain extent wrong but still….” Finally just shrugging, she looked back to Carver. “Fenris had reasons for staying.”

“I’m sure,” Cullen suddenly remarked, just loud enough to draw in the others, “Those reasons had nothing to do with the mage that freed him?”

Hawke blinked at Cullen, wondering what exactly he was about but before she could formulate an answer Fenris supplied one for her.

“No,” he remarked lightly, “Not at first anyway. Once I knew I was free I wanted nothing to do with her. I stayed because I owed something to the Fog Warriors, something that had nothing to do with Hawke or her freeing me.”

“Is that why you are here?” Aveline cocked her head as she asked, “Because you owe something to the Fog Warriors?”

“No,” Fenris shook his head slightly. “If I were seeing to my obligations to them I wouldn’t have left Seheron. No I am here because I believe in her, even if I am less inclined to believe in her cause.”

“You believe in her,” Cullen repeated thoughtfully before looking at Hawke. “That is an awful lot of belief. He’s followed you halfway around Thedas, ignores obligations strong enough to hold him in Seheron when he could go anywhere for something he admits he feels ambivalent about and warms your bed while doing it, all for a belief.”

Hawke felt her ire going straight up as she realized that Cullen had been listening to her conversation with Carver and at his frank assessment of the situation but before she could go on the offensive, Fenris spoke up again, his voice hardened.

“Believe my feelings to be stronger than I have stated but beyond that believe what you will,” he growled, “I follow Hawke for more reasons than I care to sit and explain to you or anyone else at the dinner table.”

Cullen regarded the other man thoughtfully before finally nodding and returning to his own dessert. Hawke knew the man had just gone on a fishing expedition but she didn’t exactly understand why? What exactly did Fenris have to do with anything that would interest him? Looking at Fenris she could see that his hackles were still raised and that both Aveline and Donnic understood what had just happened as well as she did. Kalina might not have understood what Cullen was about but she did understand that he had been rude to both Hawke and Fenris. Without thought she laid her hand on his as it sat clenched on the edge of the table. Fenris stiffened at the unexpected touch, but looking at Kalina he decided he couldn’t be angry at her because she didn’t know. Before either of them could say anything Carver stood, politely clearing his throat to get the attention of those at the table.

“Anyone interested in a bottle of brandy I have from here in the Free Marches? It is amazingly good and the man that bottled it hasn’t sold any yet.” Carver smirked. “Wants to age it a few more seasons, but I think he’s insane. It’s good _now_.”

Kalina, grateful for the distraction and hoping that the Knight-Commander would take the hint that this was not the best place for this sort of behavior, she smiled warmly at Fenris and patted his hand. Nodding to her husband, she also stood and since in polite society this was the hint for everyone that dinner was concluded, everyone stood. As Kalina lead the way to the library, Carver fell in step with Cullen.

“What exactly was that about?”

Cullen looked at Carver a moment before shaking his head and continuing on. Carver couldn’t decide if he should be angry at his friend or not because he knew Cullen well enough to know that his little interrogation of the elf had to have a purpose. He wouldn’t be intentionally rude for no good reason he just couldn’t see what reason he would have.

As the small group exited the dining room a voice echoed through the rafters, much as Lasota’s had earlier, only instead of being full of childish glee this one was full of mockery.

“Why Hawke, did you have to make yourself so hard to contact?”

When everyone swung around looking up to the balcony above them, Kirill pulling his sword as his fellow Templars also abandoned their post by the door to enter with swords drawn, a cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows. Stopping at the rail he looked down on the assembled before allowing a huge smile to spread across his face.

“I have had the best time trying to figure out how I should do it.”

“Fantin?” Hawke stared up at the elf, completely at a loss until Kirill started up the stairs. “Cullen, I wouldn’t suggest it. That is a Crow Master up there and he’s a friend to my cause.”

Cullen blinked as he took in the implications there and called his Templars to stand down. Carver swung around to throw a look at Aveline before rounding on Hawke.

“Tell me exactly why an Antivan assassin is inside my house Hawke!”

“I don’t know,” Hawke hissed before looking back up at Master Fantin, “Why exactly _are_ you here?”

Fantin ignored Hawke a moment to regard the hard, tense look on the Knight-Commander’s face before inclining his head politely. He might be roughly dressed and on an errand that this man was not going to be able to appreciate quite yet, but it didn’t mean that he couldn’t try to practice manners.

“A wise choice Knight-Commander,” he observed lightly. “My presence here doesn’t constitute a threat to anyone and I would hate to have to cull the ranks of your Templars.” Looking the group below him over again, he had to smile at the thunderous expressions on both Carver and Fenris’s faces. They were both unhappy at his presence though he knew for completely differing reasons. “I am here,” he finally replied to Hawke, “Because I have a message for you. One you are not expecting but that I suspect you will be glad to have.”


	40. Chapter 40

“Hawke….”

Hawke held her hand up and Aveline bit her tongue, instead looking back up at the elf as he pushed back his hood. What was it she had called him?

“Master Fantin was it?” Aveline cut off anything Hawke was about to say. “I am….”

“Aveline Hendyr, yes I know who you are Guard Captain. And that is your husband looking all harsh behind you, one Donnic Hendyr.” Master Fantin again politely inclined his head, this time to her. “You aren’t the only one keeping an eye out; mine are just harder to spot is all.”

“I would know exactly how you came to be inside this house,” Aveline responded, determined she wasn’t going to be sidetracked.

“Oh well that was actually rather simple,” Fantin clucked. “You and I really must have a chat about the security of your rulers once Hawke and I have had our conversation.”

“Explain to me,” Cullen stepped in front of Aveline, drawing a hard look from her as he interrupted, “Exactly why I should allow you anywhere near this apostate? Why I shouldn’t let Aveline toss you into a cell instead?”

Hawke threw a hard look at Cullen and Fenris stepped up behind her, his look a clear indication of what he was thinking. Aveline, seeing this could easily turn ugly quickly sent Donnic to take Kalina and round up her children who were probably still in the dining area set aside for the children whenever there were guests in the servants wing and take them to the Keep. Once he was gone she met Carver’s eye, seeing he was grateful beyond measure for her action and nodded.

“Apostate?” Master Fantin chuckled, looking at Hawke. “And I thought this man was a friend?”

“He is,” Hawke said without looking away from Cullen, “A Templar Fantin. I am an apostate mage, even if I _am_ Viscount of the city. I never said he was a friend, just a potential ally.”

Cullen shot a look at her as she asserted her title and Carver hoped she knew what she was doing.

“Ah,” Fantin nodded thoughtfully before looking at the Knight-Commander directly, his features morphing suddenly from vaguely amused to hard and determined, “Well, just keep one thing in mind Templar, I have never been kept from anything I truly wanted. If I decide to take her from you, I will.”

When Cullen drew up Carver knew that he was about to do something they would all regret and dropping a heavy hand on his shoulder, hissed into his ear, “Not in my house Cullen.”

Cullen turned to look at Carver, his face hard.

“I do not answer to you or to her Carver, no matter your titles.”

“Then who exactly do you answer to my friend?” Carver asked quietly. “You ignore Val Royeaux, taking in mages from any quarter when the Chantry insists they should be either executed on sight or turned over to the Seekers for ‘questioning,’ you don’t even pay the new Grand Cleric any real mind.”

“Crows Carver. She’s consorting with murderers.”

“I knew about them Cullen.” Carver sighed when Cullen’s eyebrow shot straight up. “We were noticing them before we knew she was coming. She had Varric tell Aveline they weren’t going to be a problem for us.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I knew you wouldn’t like it Cullen,” Carver admitted.

“You are a Templar Carver,” Cullen asserted firmly. “Before anything you are a Templar!”

“Former Templar.”

“No such thing. Lyrium is in your blood and will be forever.”

“Maybe so,” Carver tipped his head, “But you are wrong about one thing Cullen, before I was Regent, before I was Templar, I was a Hawke. She’s my sister. I will protect her where I can, but rest assured I will not do it where she deserves punishment.”

Cullen studied Carver, thinking that maybe he didn’t know his friend as well as he thought. Looking over Carver’s shoulder at Hawke, at the elf behind her he sighed and nodded to Carver. He was right about one thing - if he truly answered to no one then he was taking a step closer to what Meredith had become.

“But,” he amended before anything else could be said, “I will not be left out again. What goes on in the city might be the responsibility of the Guard,” he paused to shoot Aveline a look, “But what happens here concerns the security of my Circle as well. I _need_ to _know_.”

“I know,” Carver nodded, “And I am sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Looking at Kirill, still standing on the lower steps, sword pulled and eyeing the elf along the balcony rail, Cullen sighed and called him back. When the young man and the other two Templars retreated to the foyer at his order, he looked at Hawke, a muscle in his jaw working furiously to tell her he had his teeth clenched on this decision.

“I am,” he finally said, “Sorry.”

“Why?” she replied promptly. “You said nothing that wasn’t the truth. I _am_ an apostate. There is no insult there. He _is_ a Crow, which is a kind way of saying murderer and I’m sure neither title offends him much either. Did you think I was lying earlier when I said I would use every means at my disposal? I wasn’t. I’ll not only petition the help of a Templar, I’ll accept the help of a Crow as well.”

“Your judgment….”

“Has been flawed in the past, I admit that. But it isn’t this time.”

“And we are to trust your word on that?” Cullen remarked, “When you admitted to me that you knew Anders was an abomination, knew he was dangerous and still you protected him!”

“We are all guilty there Cullen,” Aveline remarked, “We all, including Carver knew what he was.”

“And stayed your hand for _her_ ,” Cullen retorted. “And none of you knew him the way she did. She took him into her bed! You cannot tell me Hawke you _didn’t_ _know_ what he was capable of.”

Hawke sighed. She had wondered how long before that was thrown in her face, had wondered exactly who it would be that did the throwing.

“No, I knew he was capable of a great deal,” Hawke replied evenly, trying to keep the pain this accusation and admission was causing her out of her voice and off her face. “But by the end I had sent him away. I had _no_ idea what he was up to and didn’t care to. _That_ was _my_ mistake and the whole of Kirkwall paid for it.”

“The whole of _Kirkwall_? Try the whole of _Thedas_ Hawke!” Cullen sighed, suddenly very tired, “Mages most of all.”

“I know.”

“Apostates like Anders are why Templars exist,” Carver acknowledged. “I knew what he was and I left it be same as she did, same as Aveline did. We are all, to some degree guilty for what that man did, none of us aren’t stained by the blood spilt, _even_ you Cullen. I wish it weren’t so, but it is. We may have ignored Anders but you ignored Meredith as well. But somewhere the finger pointing has _got_ to stop.”

“ _We_ all know the _truth_ , _we_ all know what happened. If the rest of the world wants to paint its own color to it, it doesn’t matter. We all made mistakes and the culmination of them was nearly the end of us all.” Aveline pointed to both Carver and Cullen, her voice taking on a determined tone. “The three of us combined got Kirkwall back on its feet and whatever Hawke has up her sleeve, the three of us combined will _keep_ it there.”

Cullen pulled himself up straight, looking silently up at the elven Crow that was watching this entire exchange with rapt attention. Of all the things said, it was the things _not_ said that fascinated the Crow most and looking at the studiously blank expression on Fenris’s face, Fantin suspected Hawke would have some explaining to do. Sighing, Cullen finally decided this time he would capitulate. Looking back at Carver, he nodded. Carver quickly buried a smile that he knew from experience the Knight-Commander would not appreciate and looked up at Fantin.

“We were just going to sample a new apple brandy that isn’t for sale yet.” Holding an arm out to indicate the library, and studying the Crow Master carefully he finished, “Would you care to join us?”

“A brandy,” Fantin tipped his head politely as he replied, “Actually sounds quite good. There is more than a little chill to the air tonight.”

Cullen made a rude noise that Carver hoped didn’t carry as far as the balcony but suspected the elf heard anyway and stepped around him, leaving the rest of them to follow or not as they pleased. Carver shot a look at Hawke but she was studying the rug at her feet thoughtfully, a sad look on her face. It wasn’t until Fenris laid a hand on her shoulder that she snapped out of her reverie and nodding, she followed behind the Knight-Commander and Aveline. Fantin paused at the bottom of the stairs to regard Carver a moment.

“Wonderful dynamic you have here in the Kirkwall leadership,” he smiled. “I see now why the Kirkwall Circle held even if it was the birthplace of the mage rebellion.”

Carver regarded Fantin a moment before deciding anything said to this man could come back to haunt him and again holding out his hand, smiled thinly.

“The Kirkwall Circle of Magi held because our mages never rebelled in the first place.”

“Oh my well,” Fantin replied as he turned to enter the library. “That is certainly cryptic.”

“Read what you want into it Crow,” Carver sighed.

“Oh I shall,” Fantin responded lightly, knowing that if he chose he could ferret out the truth. As he entered the library he pulled an obviously expensive as well as obviously well handled parchment from one of the many pockets inside the cloak he still wore and tossed it to Hawke. “Your message m’lady.”

Hawke snatched it out of the air and looking at the wax seal, stared a moment dumbly. It was, she saw, the royal seal of Antiva. Breaking it she unfolded the missive and slowly read and then reread the contents before looking at Fantin over the page. He shrugged dismissively, an air of boredom to him that Hawke knew was for their audience.

“She has no real… resources, more of an overstuffed guard really. When _my_ Master speaks, she listens.”

“Who?” Aveline demanded, decidedly tired of this entire game.

Hawke just looked at her a moment and started laughing.

* * *

Isabella took one look at the rare serious expression on Varric’s face as he approached and handed Klaton the manifest list that he had brought her. Klaton sighed, realizing that something new had happened when he saw that the Crow Master’s little crony was right behind him and decided he wasn’t going to leave unless he was told to. Varric didn’t say anything, he just handed Isabella the parchment.

“What?” Isabella blinked as she read the document before looking at Varric. “You’re serious? All this time it was the queen of Antiva that has been paying me to harass Tevinter shipping?”

“Apparently so,” Varric finally broke his serious expression with a grin. Leave it to Isabella to worry that part first.

“I always assumed it was some overly important Antivan banker or something,” Isabella shook her head and regarded Varric a moment. “I guess it makes sense though.”

“Well it really is in her best interest to keep Tevinter busy on as many fronts as possible. The Qunari were kind enough to invade Seheron and that keeps most of their attention focused away from their neighbors. The war in Seheron is sent from the Maker as far as Antiva is concerned.” Varric nodded. “Keeping a fleet of privateers to keep things interesting for both Tevinter and Par Vollen just makes good sense.”

“And,” Klaton interjected, “A Qunari invasion of Tevinter would just throw off the balance. The Qunari are not nearly as easily distracted as the Tevinter Senate is.”

“Exactly,” Vicenzo threw in, “What the Guild Master thought. Historically no one molests Antiva because they know it will be the Crows and _not_ the Antivan army that answers them.”

“The Qunari aren’t going to care about the Crows,” Isabella chuckled, “They might even put you on the top of their list. Doubt that philosopher of theirs put outright murder high on the list of things to strive for.”

“You might,” Vicenzo responded with a shrug, “Be surprised. Koslun was if nothing else, very practical about life. And death.”

“You,” Varric snorted, “Have studied Koslun?”

“It always helps to understand your mark.”

Everyone there blinked at the Crow before each deciding independently that they didn’t want to know.

“So what? Your Guild Master just went to the Antivan queen and told her to turn over her privateer fleet?” Klaton asked.

“I doubt it went that way no,” Vicenzo chuckled. “Probably more like he suggested it might be a good idea. We tend to stay out of each other’s way as a rule so I suspect the fact he suddenly showed up making suggestions at all got her attention.”

“Politics makes my brain bleed on a good day,” Isabella sighed, “Antivan politics especially. They are worse than Orlais.”

“No,” Vicenzo snorted, “We aren’t. There might be a whole lot of intrigue among the nobles but it isn’t really them running the country anyway. It’s the bankers and the merchant classes that keep everything going while the nobles wander around looking important. The queen understands this and listens to them.”

“And to the Crows.”

Vicenzo looked at Klaton a moment and inclined his head.

“Yes, and to the Crows. So long as she refrains from interfering with us, we refrain from… interfering with her and the threat of us keeps peace on her boarders. She knows this.”

“So,” Isabella reread the missive again, “We have what? Something like fifty ships from the Felicisima Armada and now another thirty privateers? The Qunari are bound to have more than that but at least the odds are getting better right?”

No one replied.

* * *

Hassrath sat staring at the candle that lit the room he had spent the last… what? He’d lost track of the days now since they had laid anchor in the Kirkwall harbor. Shrawn was, he supposed a kind enough host, delivering his meals to him herself so that she could make sure he was alright with his enforced solitude and at first it hadn’t really been that much of an imposition. The crew on the Siren’s Call had at least been used to his presence but the crew on the Wolf of Rivain just stared at him so he tended to keep to himself anyway. Now that Hawke and Fenris were gone and he had no choice but to stay below decks to stay out of sight it was starting to wear thin, especially knowing that Maraas was here as well but out of his reach. At first he had fallen back on old habits, meditating to try and find a balance to keep these feelings at bay but as time wore on it was becoming harder and harder to even find the inner peace to try and meditate, so now he just brooded.

* * *

Fantin watched as the rest of the people in the room stared at Hawke with varying degrees of confusion and irritation as he politely chose a chair that was not upholstered to sit in, knowing that his garb was filthy and would cause some poor servant no end of grief to clean after. Unclasping the cloak and letting it fall back, he leaned back with his hands folded in his lap and his legs stretched out and watched as Fenris tried to decide what to do first, glare at him or stare at Hawke.

Fantin did not know the exact wording in the letter but he did know the general idea: though the Antivan queen understood the threat that Hawke had uncovered, she was in no position to publicly throw her weight behind any endeavor to confront it without other more martially capable kingdoms already in the fray. Therefore she would order her privateer fleet, one that the crown had been secretly funding for the better part of a century, to Hawke’s banner. The fact that Hawke had already enlisted the Felicisima Armada to her side helped because the queen’s privateers had on more than one occasion worked with the pirates that made up the Armada on raids of both Tevinter and Qunari holdings in Seheron. The problem there, Fantin knew was that though the bulk of her privateer fleet all answered to one man, some, like Isabella were independent and did as they pleased. Those might decide that war was not for them so there was no telling just how many ships they had just been pledged. The implications though were clear - Hawke needed Kirkwall and Starkhaven more than ever now. Meeting Fenris’s hard stare directly, he hoped she understood since it looked like a private conversation was not going to be in the cards tonight.

“Hawke,” Aveline finally decided she had had enough. “What is going on?”

Hawke folded the parchment, shaking her head as she handed it to Fenris, watching as he folded it and pushed it into one of the many pouches on his belt before looking thoughtfully at Fantin. He was, she mused, right. She hadn’t been expecting this but she was glad to have it.

“More than I thought apparently,” she answered Aveline though she still looked at Fantin, “A great deal more.”

Fantin shot her a bare smile, happy that she apparently could read between the lines before accepting a glass from Carver who had decided he was going to just ignore the exchange between the two. Eventually Hawke was going to have to lay her cards on the table. Aveline shot her friend an irritated look but before she could say anything Cullen, who had taken up a stance by the window decided to chime in.

“You do realize that you are in my charge?”

Hawke looked at him levelly a moment but Fenris decided he had had enough of this Templar tonight.

“I however,” he replied in a light tone that was at odds with the look he shot Cullen, “Am not in your charge. I am neither a mage nor an apostate.”

“True,” Cullen responded, “But you are at the moment living in what is essentially my home. I am your host if you will and I can have you removed.”

“I would like to see you try,” Fenris fired back, his back straightening.

“Oh come on now,” Fantin interjected, deciding that this posturing needed to end before it became truly serious. “We are all adults here. Even if we don’t all approve of one another we are all here for a common reason.”

“Only some of us have no idea what that reason is,” Carver smiled thinly at the elf.

“True,” Fantin conceded before taking a sip of the brandy Carver had handed him. “But if you have reason to doubt Hawke’s judgment, please understand this – she has the full weight of the Antivan Crows behind her. We may be a lot of things,” he paused to level a pregnant look at Cullen before finishing with, “Fools we are not. We only involve ourselves in the grand scheme of things when we believe our best interests are served. By the way,” he smiled at Carver, “This is _exceedingly_ good. You _must_ tell me who you got this from.”

Carver sighed, looking at Aveline and seeing the same frustration on her face. Cullen simply crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his face set inscrutably as he regarded both elves. Fenris decided to just ignore both irritants in the room and stood behind Hawke’s chair. Hawke took it all in and sighed, wishing that Sebastian would hurry up. Fantin, seeing this was going to be a decidedly uncomfortable meeting, looked at Aveline.

“ _You_ need to see to your security here at the Viscount’s estate. It was exceedingly easy to get in.” Pausing to consider a moment he continued, “And make sure that this Onace does right by the scullery maid he got pregnant….”

* * *

Carver watched as Aveline followed behind Fantin, disappearing into the private parts of the estate so that Fantin could show her exactly how he had managed to get in. Judging by the look she carried she didn’t trust him anymore than he did but was willing to accept his opinions of the Guard’s security of his home. Considering the late hour, he doubted his wife and children would be returning tonight and he was just as happy about that now that he knew how easy it was for the assassin to gain entrance. Cullen had listened as Fantin explained what he had done, his only comment a grunt when the Crow Master had complimented his own security and now stood staring out the window. Hawke had fallen silent through the discussion, staring thoughtfully at the glass of brandy that she still hadn’t taken more than a sip from. Sighing, Carver struggled for something to say but Hawke beat him to it.

“I’m sorry Carver.”

“Excuse me? What for?”

“All of this,” Hawke waved a hand. “I suppose you were right, I did leave you to pick up behind me.”

Carver just looked at her a moment, studying the sad expression she had.

“And now here I am, asking more of you.” She paused to look at the fire across the room, remembering all the times she’d sat here struggling with herself all those years ago. In the end she had gotten what she wanted, she’d managed to work within the system that was the heartbeat of Kirkwall and had made her way to the top of the heap, literally and done it as a known apostate. But it had been at best bittersweet and at worst painful in ways that still haunted her. Looking back at Carver she wished it had all been different. “I want you to know, I am sorry for all of it.”

“Hawke,” Carver sighed, leaning back in his chair and examining his sister, “I didn’t mean that you know. I may have resented the fact you left me holding the bag back in the day, but I am not unhappy with how my life turned out because of it. There are worse ways to live life and I have found I am actually quite good at this. I enjoy the challenge even if I complain.”

Hawke nodded, looking back at the glass in her hands.

“I didn’t. I didn’t have the patience to listen to everyone’s complaints and try to work out the balance. It’s a thankless job.” She chuckled and shot a conspiratorial look at her brother. “I rather prefer Champion to Viscount. Everyone loves the Champion because they do things that create tales that live after them. Viscounts just sit at the top of the hill and stare out over their domain, figuring out how to collect more taxes.”

Carver blinked at her, knowing she was joking but still trying to decide whether or not to be insulted. Before he could decide she reached into a pocket hidden in the folds of her dress and pulled out something she promptly tossed at him. Catching it reflexively, he stared down at the ring she had tossed him. It was the royal seal of Kirkwall, the ring that every Viscount had worn since Sir Lumile de Marais liberated the city from the Qunari and had established the Kirkwall city-state that still existed today. More than any of the other trappings that came with the title, that ring established rulership. Looking back at her, he saw her smile.

“My gift to you.”

A little stunned, Carver glanced past her to Cullen’s back and hoped that the Templar had missed the exchange. Without the title that went with that ring, Hawke’s position was diminished. Stuffing the ring in a pocket he nodded.

“Thank you,” he replied simply, watching as she smiled and took a sip of the brandy.

Cullen stood, watching the reflection in the glass and wondered what she had just given Carver. From his position across the room their softly spoken conversation didn’t carry. He could see Fenris watching him, obviously listening to their exchange as he studied Cullen’s back with an odd expression.  Whatever the elf’s thoughts, they were hidden much as usual. Cullen sighed, wishing he were more forthcoming for more than a few reasons, not the least of which was it would negate having to bait him to judge his reactions and responses. This elf might be a bit of a cipher but he was obviously protective of those that had earned his loyalty and looking at the lyrium brands Cullen suspected that he could be a potent ally. Vistana hadn’t been able to tell him much about them beyond the fact that very few had the skill to attempt the ritual, fewer still survived it which he supposed said something about not only Fenris but also the man Hawke had killed to free him. And in a way about Hawke as well. Vistana had theorized though that the lyrium would give him a connection to the Fade that would augment whatever skills he had. What price he paid for it was, she held, anyone’s guess.

The price one paid when dealing with lyrium was always dear, Cullen mused as his attention shifted to Carver’s reflection. It took a strong man to walk away from the Templar brotherhood, even only so far as the Keep. Once lyrium was in your blood it was a lifelong commitment, an addiction that Cullen had seen bring the mighty to their knees. Having a Templar in the Keep was an advantage that few in Kirkwall really understood because few understood the very real effect of knowing what was in store should the order decide to withhold its… support. Cullen knew he himself would never do it so long as he knew Carver’s intentions to be honest but that threat was one of the ways that the Chantry kept control of its Templars. How many had shown up at his doorstep, desperate and broken because of their actions and their addictions? And how many had he been forced to judge and send away?

Even with the connections he and Carver had managed to cobble together his resources were only so big and being responsible ultimately for two Circles was taxing. And with the Teryn of Ostwick petitioning him to help reinstitute the remains of their Circle of Magi the way he had in Starkhaven and the Seekers watching everything he did, Cullen was beginning to feel the stress. Hawke’s return was just one more straw, her companion another. Sighing when his attention was drawn to Aveline, Fantin and the Captain of the Household Guard as they stood outside the front of the estate discussing something, he decided it was time to call this exhausting evening done. He hoped that Carver had accomplished whatever it was he had set out to do with it because Cullen was pretty sure there would be no other.

“Hawke….”

Before he could finish he saw her nod and stand, apparently thinking the same thing as he.

“He’s right,” she said to Carver, “I’ve… disrupted your household enough for one day.”

Carver sat forward and looked up at his sister, a shrewd look to his eye before replying, “I have literally come to expect no less from you.”

Hawke chuckled, shaking her head as she brushed past him, headed for the door.

“At least I’m never boring, right?”

As she left the room, Fenris on her heels Cullen heard Carver remark lightly, “I could use a little boredom really.” Chuckling at his friend, he held out an arm watching as Carver followed his sister, deciding that yes, he understood that sentiment very well.

* * *

Hawke sat quietly, lost in thought as the skiff bounced in rough waters as they returned to the Circle. The sky had clouded up during their visit to Hightown and even in the dark it was obvious that the clouds were pregnant with the promise of snow. In her contemplation she didn’t notice when Fenris again took up station at the bow or the distant look he was carrying. She also didn’t notice when Cullen sent the young Templar Kirill to again speak with him. Even without benefit of being able to see the chaos of emotions that Kirill’s words incited on the elf’s face, had she been looking she would have known by the stiffening of his back, the way he held his head that something was wrong. But she wasn’t paying attention. So when they reached the docks and were approaching the gate, she was unprepared when Fenris, brands suddenly flaring to near blinding in the dark, turned on Cullen. Faster than she had ever seen him move before he was on the Knight-Commander, slinging him against a stone pillar and a hand wrapped around Cullen’s throat, leaning in until his nose only just touched the end of Cullen’s.

“Where is she?”

Hawke heard the rasp of steel and knew that not only the Templars that had escorted them but the ones guarding the gate were all preparing to defend Cullen. Fear fired along every nerve she owned because she knew that she had no weapons except those that the Maker had given her and which she had foresworn ever turning against another. Before she could decide her action Cullen choked out a harsh, “Hold!” Around her his Templars stopped but did not stand down, watching as Cullen struggled to breathe and regarded the elf in his face with remarkable composure considering. Fenris, impatient and deciding he had had enough this night, pulled Cullen forward and slammed him back to punctuate each word he uttered.

“Where! Is! She!”

Cullen winced as his head bounced off the stone and as he hit the third time, he rasped, “If you kill me elf you will never know.”

Releasing Cullen with a long string of Tevinter issuing from him that Cullen suspected he should be happy he couldn’t understand Fenris didn’t step back, instead slamming his hands to the rock on either side of Cullen’s head and staring at the Templar expectantly.

“Fenris? Who?” Hawke hissed as she stepped up next to him, “Where is who?”

Without looking away from Cullen Fenris snarled.

“My sister.”

My sister.”


	41. Chapter 41

“What?” Hawke gaped at Fenris’s profile before looking at Cullen, eyes wide and eyebrows high.

Cullen, angry red marks coloring his throat and several scratches oozing blood into the collar of his shirt from the sharp tips of Fenris’s gauntlets, cleared his throat and regarded Fenris coolly.

“Back up elf and be glad I am a patient man.”

“Patience?” Fenris spat at him, his eyebrows drawing together angrily. “You talk to me of patience when you have done nothing tonight but play games and make threats? Excuse me if I find you amusing Templar.”

“A necessary evil,” Cullen remarked.

Fenris didn’t reply, instead he sneered. Hawke cringed at the feral expression and looked at Cullen.

“How long have you known?”

“Since the night you showed up,” Cullen asserted without losing Fenris’s eye. “You are very… distinctive. Varania described you and your rather unique appearance to me.”

“And you said nothing?” Hawke demanded.

Cullen continued to watch Fenris, who had still not moved away from him and said nothing. It was Kirill that filled the void left by his silence.

“Mother asked that we not,” he interjected. “She told us last she saw of you, you didn’t remember her.”

Fenris swiveled his head to look at the Templar, realizing now what it was about him that was vaguely unsettling  – on those rare occasions that Fenris looked in a mirror it was a face not too unlike this boy’s that stared back at him. Straightening, Fenris let his hands fall to his side and stepping back from Cullen, he regarded Kirill a moment before responding.

“I still don’t,” Fenris admitted softly. “But I know she exists.”

Kirill nodded, looking at Cullen. Cullen shrugged, if the elf would rather deal with Varania’s child then who was he to complain? So long as he wasn’t assaulting anyone else. Eyeing the lyrium tattoos that were still flaring brightly, Cullen had to marvel at the speed of Fenris’s attack and wonder what else this odd man had up his proverbial sleeve. This was a knife’s edge that Cullen was balanced on, not knowing for sure Fenris’s reaction to the news his blood kin was within reach and he had struggled with whether or not he should tell him. Varania herself had been unsure. She had told Cullen of her brother’s sacrifice to free her and her mother, of how the Magister he had indentured himself to for life had put them on a ship to Qarinus, jobs arranged and with a dire warning to never return to Minrathous if they enjoyed breathing. Varania of course, being headstrong had after her mother’s death soon after arriving, decided to try and apprentice herself to a Magister and the only place to do that was in Minrathous. After trying and failing because in Tevinter elves were considered worse than second class citizens and no proper Magister would bother with training one, she had managed to find a job. That of course was where her luck ran out.

“I want to see her,” Fenris paused when Hawke laid her hand on his arm, shaking his head and lightening his tone. “I want to _know_ her.”

Cullen regarded the suddenly sad expression on Fenris’s face and sighed. He wished this man were not such a contradiction. He had shown no love for his former master, indeed had shown open hostility when questioned or pushed and Cullen could see no reason for him to have any love of a system of government that would allow such abuses as he had heard from both Fenris and Varania. But there he stood, performing the exact same function freed as he had enslaved - bodyguarding a mage. This time instead of a Tevinter Magister with not only power enough to influence the whole of the Tevinter Senate and talent enough to even attempt the rituals that had placed those marks on him but also the arrogance to even think he could in the first place, he was protecting the life and well being of a known apostate, one that had enough political influence in the Free Marches to make her a pain the backside and enough talent with the arcane to make her downright dangerous. He had even publicly admitted to caring about her when pressed, even if he hadn’t outright said it. Cullen could not decide if that fact was a comfort or not.

Varania was a mage, one with not insignificant power herself. Vistana herself had seen to her education and the First Enchanter had assured Cullen that should Varania ever decide to go against the Circle it would take a lot to stop her. Cullen wasn’t entirely worried about that, Varania was happy here. The Circle might be constraining with its mages but Varania had seen the world beyond and found it just as restricting though in different ways. But the introduction of her brother might change that. A blood tie that apparently saw no issue with free mages might muddy waters that Cullen would prefer to keep clear. But his conscience could not allow him to keep her existence from Fenris. He had no real feeling for him but he did care for Varania, cared for Kirill, enough so that he had risked his position under Meredith to see to Kirill’s well being and enough so that he continued to risk it should the Seekers ever discover it.

Studying the elf, his marking still flaring though they had dulled as he had begun to calm down as he stared Hawke’s hand on his forearm, Cullen took a deep breath and held it a moment. As much as Varania had been through, he suspected her brother had seen at least as bad, if not worse in his life.

“I want you to know something Fenris,” he finally said, “I think a great deal of your sister. She has been here a long time. She was here when Meredith ordered the Right of Annulment and was one of the mages who refused to fight and Hawke refused to kill because of it. I backed Hawke that day for a whole host of reasons but not the least of them was that I knew in my heart that the mages in this Circle had suffered under Meredith’s heavy hand and they had not committed the crime they were being punished for. It was not until afterwards that I found out that Vistana and Varania had been voices of reason within the Circle. They had both argued with Orsino; spoke out against fighting or using blood magic to survive the holocaust that Meredith had unleashed. Their reasons differed but the end result was the same – _they_ _saved_ _lives_. Your sister is, in her own way, a hero of that day.” He paused, watching as Fenris continued to look down at Hawke’s hand as he listened. “And she is as responsible for the changes I have made here as Hawke ever was. Hawke showed me that not all apostates are to be feared outright, but Varania, in her own quiet way showed me that even the most powerful of mages in our charge need not be feared simply because they have a strong connection to the fade.”

“I want to see her,” Fenris responded finally, after a long pause to consider what Cullen had just said.

“If she so desires, I will arrange it.” When Fenris looked up at him expectantly, Cullen held up a hand and added, “Tomorrow.”

“He’s right,” Hawke interjected when it looked like Fenris was going to argue. “It’s late Fenris. You would more than likely be getting her out of bed tonight.”

Fenris’s mouth snapped shut, unable to argue with the logic Hawke presented even if in his heart he wanted to. Nodding he looked at Cullen, eyes hardening as he did.

“ _No_ _more_ _games_ ,” he warned the Knight-Commander. “I will suffer no more games.”

Cullen shrugged, promising nothing and quietly ordered his Templars down before holding out his arm to indicate that they should proceed through the gate. Sighing heavily, Fenris turned and walked away, Kirill following silently. Hawke stared after him a few moments before glaring at Cullen.

“That was not fair Cullen,” she hissed before turning to follow.

“I am not here to play fair Hawke,” Cullen replied before she could take a step. “I’m here to protect lives. His as much as Varania’s.”

Hawke rounded on him, pushing a finger to his chest.

“Next time you might want to consider that he could have killed you and a great many of your Templars as well.” She cocked her head at him. “Or do those lives not count?”

Without waiting for his response, she swung around and left him standing there as she followed behind Fenris. Cullen sighed. She didn’t understand.

Fenris had made a beeline straight to their rooms, ignoring Kirill completely at this point and his pace one that the young Templar had to struggle to match. Hawke didn’t even try, and after the confrontation in the outer courtyard her own Templars were more guarded than ever. When she arrived Kirill was standing across the hall staring at the door. Stopping before he realized they were there she regarded the young man who had referred to Varania as ‘mother’ thoughtfully. Now that she was aware of his heritage she could see the elf in his features – the high cheekbones and almost delicate build. Sighing she marched up to him, eyeing the sad air he had until he realized he was being observed and wiped his expression to something closer to neutral.

“I would have a word with you Templar,” she informed him in a light tone that held just enough steel to tell him that she would not be diverted easily. “Alone.”

He studied her a moment before nodding and the two of them moved away from the door and the other Templars.

“What would you have of me?” he asked tiredly.

“Varania is your mother?”

He nodded.

“And she has been here how long now?”

“Very nearly seventeen years.”

Hawke studied him shrewdly a moment, suddenly regretting a decision made long ago. Although she had ardently fought alongside Vistana with Cullen for change inside the Circle she had spent as little time as she could inside its walls. All that time this woman had been here, under her nose. Suddenly she wondered if she had been among the first group of mages that they had come upon that day that refused to fight. Vistana hadn’t, they had found her with another, much larger group hiding in the library.

“You were born here?”

Kirill nodded and Hawke sighed, wondering who his father was. Considering the state of the Circle back then…. She decided against asking because it might be poking at something best left alone. Standing there studying this man, one young enough to feel he could make a difference and with enough time ahead of him that he might just, she started feeling the weight of her own years laying across her shoulders. Reaching out she laid a hand on his shoulder.

“He has no memories of his life before Danarius. I don’t know if that was something the lyrium did or if it was something that Danarius did but he doesn’t remember. All he knows of it is from a journal the magister kept,” she finally said. “You haven’t seen him at his best tonight. Just remember that.”

Kirill considered both her and her words a moment before nodding. He knew as much but it was a comfort to actually hear it spoken, much as Hawke had known it would be. Patting his shoulder Hawke then turned away, knowing that Fenris’s nephew would not be the only person in turmoil from this turn of events.

Fenris was pacing. Hawke watched as he stalked back and forth past the windows and couldn’t help but see the irony in this situation. She watched him a moment as she took off her cloak and laid it across the one he had thrown carelessly across the back of one of the couches. His look was dark as a thunderclap as he ignored her in favor of whatever thoughts were bouncing around inside his head and Hawke had to admit she was just a little intimidated by the thought of interrupting his reverie but she knew she had to. Walking over to lean against the wall just past where he was habitually stopping to turn, she watched him silently a few minutes, arms crossed. When she sighed heavily he paused to look at her.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he bit out. “Don’t try and talk me down, don’t try to smooth this over, don’t even _try_.”

Hawke let an eyebrow rise haughtily.

“Who said I was going to? You have every reason to be upset with Cullen.”

“It isn’t just Cullen,” Fenris leaned forward. “You _lied_ to me.”

“What?”

“You _lied_ to me about _Anders_.”

Hawke’s mouth snapped shut as she took that in.

“I didn’t lie to you, I just left some things out,” she finally replied, trying hard to keep her voice level. “He isn’t something I am entirely proud of.”

“Funny,” Fenris snapped, “You made it out that he was some sort of saint to me.”

“He was,” Hawke responded, feeling her hackles going up, “Complicated. He was a good man, but he was angry and Justice just compounded that. He wasn’t the same at the end.”

“And you conveniently left that out,” Fenris barked, “Along with the parts about…”

When Fenris stopped, waving a hand like he couldn’t bring himself to say it and a disgusted look on his face, Hawke decided that was just about enough of that. She came off the wall and shoved her face into his.

“Yes,” she hissed. “I slept with him. I thought I was in love with him and maybe I was. But I outgrew him and eventually came to see that he was wrong. Not entirely wrong, but wrong enough that I couldn’t be with him anymore. I sent him away and part of me will regret that forever.”

Fenris looked for just the barest of moments like he had been punched in the gut but then it was gone, replaced by a look of revulsion that ripped at her heart. She hadn’t meant it the way he took it but she knew it was too late to take it back now. Instead she held her ground, letting the pregnant silence grow because she had no idea what to say to fix it. Finally it was Fenris that shattered it.

“You knowingly took an abomination into your bed? You allowed it….” Fenris stopped, appalled at the images flashing through his head and suddenly at a loss for words to describe it or the way it made him feel. “I can’t even think where to start!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hawke finally fired at him as she turned away, “Believe me when I say I’ve heard it all, mostly from Cullen.”

“Don’t you walk away from me,” Fenris snatched a hold of her arm, swinging her around. Angry as she was, hurt as she was her reaction was automatic and as she came around her other arm came up. Before Fenris realized what was happening she nailed him soundly in the jaw. Surprised, his head snapped back and his brands flared but his bruising grip didn’t loosen. Glaring at her as he realized the inside of his cheek was cut, he mused this was the second time he’d tasted his own blood at this woman’s hands. Her eyes widened when she realized what she’d done and Fenris knew she was getting ready to apologize, but he was in no mood for it. Yanking her against him before she could react, he pinned both her arms to her sides and buried his face in her hair, thinking to say something. He was however stopped when he found himself enveloped in the soft scent that to him was Hawke. Suddenly he realized that this was his favorite part of her, right where her ear met her jaw and her neck. Where he could smell both the soap in her hair and the tang of the sweat on her skin and where he knew if he ran his tongue along the shell of her ear she would sigh or if he nipped at her neck she would gasp. This was the spot where he would bury his nose when he curled himself to her and this was the smell that had come to mean comfort to him. Angry as he was, he felt a flush of desire run through his veins and suddenly disgusted with himself, with this weakness she brought out in him, he shoved her roughly away. When she stared at him, completely confused, he scowled at her and turned away.

“Go away.”

Hawke didn’t need to be told twice. Resisting the urge to start throwing everything in sight at him she marched to the sleeping chamber, leaving him standing staring out a window. Her hands were shaking so bad that she couldn’t seem to work the laces along the side of the dress’s bodice and once she had finally freed herself from it, she didn’t have the energy left to pull off the chemise so she just crawled into the bed with it on. She didn’t expect to sleep but exhaustion pulled her into the Fade soon after her head hit the pillow.

Years later if you asked Hawke what exactly it was that woke her from her deep slumber that night she wouldn’t be able to explain it, but suddenly she found herself staring into the dark that was only accentuated by the bare light that came from the fireplace shared between the sleeping chamber and the sitting room. The fire had long since fallen to embers that softly cracked and hissed. She’d fallen to sleep facing the window and in the scant light she could just make out a heavy curtain of snow blowing past the window and the room was cold. At first bleary she snuggled further under the blankets, looking for a warmth that wasn’t there and realizing that, she looked over her shoulder and saw Fenris wasn’t there. That brought back memories of the entire night, of the fight that had ended it and a faint echo of the anger she’d felt. Stubbornly she pulled the blankets tighter and snapped her eyes shut, petulantly determined she was _not_ going to lose sleep over this.

But sleep resisted her and she lay there listening to the deep silence that had fallen over the apartment that had once housed the First Enchanters of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi. Something about it worried at some buried instinct inside her, warning her that something somewhere wasn’t right. Sighing softly, knowing that she would get no rest until she looked, she threw back the covers. The cold of the wood floor very nearly made her gasp, but that same instinct made her stifle it. She considered reaching for a weapon and she silently chuckled at herself. What danger could have made it through all the Templars to rooms that lay deep inside the Circle? That brought to mind Fantin’s appearance in the Amell estate but logically she knew even Fantin and his ilk had limits. They were not ghosts. Padding through the room, automatically walking toe to heel as her father had taught her to control how her weight was distributed and hence create less noise, she peered into the sitting room.

The lanterns had been dimmed and in the limited light both they and the fireplace gave off, she realized she couldn’t see Fenris. A little confused by this, she went to walk past the fireplace to the desk where one of the lanterns sat but as she stepped before it a faint noise snapped her attention to the arrangement of couches and chairs a few steps to her right. There was, she saw, a form huddled on the cold floor in front of one of the couches. Even in the dark she knew it was Fenris because his brands were glowing gently in the dark. He’d taken off his steel, leaving only his leggings and leather jerkin and he had his arms wrapped around his legs, hugging them to his chest. His head was lying on his knees, his hair obscuring his face but even so she knew something was wrong because his shoulders trembled.

“Fenris?” she whispered, somehow unwilling to break the silence with anything louder. When he twitched but didn’t answer, she felt an unreasoning fear sing along her nerves. Her anger and disappointment with him instantly forgotten, she padded over to him, crouching before him. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer, just sat there until she finally reached out to lay a hand on one of his. Before she could, he flinched away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Blinking as she pulled her hand back, she felt a rekindling of the anger of earlier until the forlorn tone of his voice finally registered.

“Fenris,” she repeated, this time with more strength, more demand in her tone, “What’s wrong?”

When he finally looked up even in the dim light she could see the anguish in his eyes, the pain etched into every line and angle of his face. Struck dumb, she watched as his eyes brightened with tears and though he struggled against them, one would not be denied and it ran a silent path from his eye and down past his nose. Finally, when it slipped past the corner of his mouth he spoke.

“I remembered.”

Blinking and not sure she understood she stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Remembered?”

“Everything,” he croaked, forcing the words past the knot in his throat. “I remembered it all. It was all there. Faces, voices, places… everything. I woke knowing my life, it was all right there,” he held up a hand palm up only to clench it shut in a fist. “But it was like smoke, I couldn’t hold it and it dissolved into the air. It’s… gone.”

His words ended in a hitched sob and in the dark he seemed to shrink into himself. The sight of him so weakened pulled at Hawke. Without thinking she reached out to lay a hand to his cheek.

“Don’t.”

She paused, her hand close enough she could feel the heat of his skin and looked at him.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.

“You should be.”

She considered that a moment.

“Maybe so, but I’m not.”

Laying her hand to his cheek, she watched as his eyes closed and his brands flared brighter as she ran her thumb along his cheekbone. He seemed frozen, locked into place by whatever it was he was feeling and she scooted closer, taking his hand into hers and pressing it to her own cheek. Turning her face into its palm, feeling the roughness of the calluses against her skin, she pressed her lips to its center.

“I never was,” she whispered, “And I never _will_ be.”

Feeling her breathy words against his palm as much as hearing them, Fenris struggled. His memories were gone, once again hidden behind some door that had been opened for just fleeting moments but the emotions they had left in their wake were still raw. Love, hate, anger, compassion, shame… they were _all_ still there, swirling, churning, stabbing into his soul and scarring it with their sharp edges. He was so overwhelmed, so lost to their influence and terrified by their strength that he feared losing control of himself, feared what might happen. But suddenly here was a rock, this simple touch, these simple words were stone to which he could cling. Without opening his eyes, he allowed his thumb to start tracing her cheek, exploring the contours, the lines, and the smoothness of it. Discovering the corner of her mouth he let it slip along her lower lip and feeling the trill that her breath along his skin caused as it joined the chorus of things racing through him, he sensed somewhere that _this_ could tame them all. That he could lose himself inside her and find the safety and peace he so desperately needed.

“Hawke….”

His voice broke, cracking and shattering with the strength of what was happening. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to because the tip of her tongue found the pad of his thumb and that soft, light touch as it tested the flavor of his skin shouted her acquiescence to anything he needed. A deep groan escaped him as he finally surrendered and eyes still shut against reality, his hand slid into her hair and pulled her to him.

 The kiss was not gentle, it was instead bruising and harsh as he strove for control of the insanity inside him but she didn’t protest. Instead she pressed herself to him as he pulled her roughly into his lap, surrendering herself to his brusque demands. When his hand went to explore her it became tangled in the voluminous chemise and growling his frustration, he hooked his fingers in the neck, yanking with far more strength than was needed. Hawke felt the bite of the fabric before the light linen gave way to him and whimpered into his kiss. That sound combined with the fabric as it tore away from her spoke to something primal inside him, something that man had been striving to harness and control since they had first felt its thrill but Fenris was beyond that now. Growling he tore his mouth from hers, impatiently pushing at the chemise until it was out of his way before forcing her flat to the floor. Straddling her he captured both her hands and pressed them to the wood on either side of her head and once again claimed her mouth with a brutal kiss. She was his and something deep inside him, something wild and untamed intended to make sure she never forgot that as his desire overwhelmed him. Releasing her he straightened to struggle with the lacings of his leggings until finally he had freed himself and pushing her legs apart with his knee, he settled himself between them and thrust into her in one fluid movement.

Buried inside her as far as he could get, he could hear her as she spoke, saying something that he was beyond comprehending but it sent electric currents along his spine and he groaned as he set a brutal pace to his thrusts. Burying his face in her neck, he bit down on the tender flesh he found, tasting blood and not caring as each thrust sent him spiraling further and further out of control. All that mattered was this tension that escalated with every lunge, pushing him closer and closer to the release his body demanded. It didn’t creep up like it always had before, this time it exploded with a strength that overwhelmed him, forcing a long string of Tevinter curses from him as he struggled not to drown in wave after wave of intensity as he emptied himself into her. Finally collapsing on to her, weakened and spent, he groaned and fought to regain control.

He could feel Hawke trembling under him, one hand buried in his hair while the other was pressed to his back, holding him to her as she too struggled with herself and this is what finally helped him find his center. What had just happened he knew was not fair to her; it had been too fast because he had been too intent on his own release to care about hers. Something inside him was shamed by that. Pulling himself up onto his elbows he looked down at her, studying the look of complacent acceptance and marveled at her. He didn’t deserve such selflessness but here she was. Even though his body felt hollow, like it had used every last reserve it had, he decided he wasn’t finished with her and looking down he began whispering to her.

Words had power and Fenris _knew_ this to be true. He had lived too long in the company of not only a magister, but one with great influence within the Tevinter Senate. He knew that a word could cut, could heal, could destroy, could console. Simple words had built empires and then brought them crashing to the ground. It was this knowledge that had kept him from saying what he wanted, knowing it would give her power over him and in that instant he fell to his own native language to tell her what he felt. She had lived in Tevinter but he knew she had never mastered the complicated and subtle language of his homeland and in this safety he began pouring out his heart.

Hawke’s attention was riveted to him, to the play of things across his face in the delicate light cast by the dying embers of the fire, to the velvet timbre of his voice as he spoke words she didn’t understand and didn’t need to. When his head dipped down to claim her bruised and swollen lips, the gentle tenderness of his kiss made her heart ache and her head spin. Without question or even thought she gave herself over to him, accepting what he was giving without thought to anything previous or anything to come. Now was all that mattered. _He_ was all that mattered. When his lips slipped from hers, tracing a light touch along her jaw, his words changed, his _tone_ changed. Gone was the intent gentleness, now there was a deep sensuousness to it that no matter the language Hawke understood. Fenris was in fact telling her in great detail just what he intended to do with her, how he fully intended to tease her to fruition as many times as their bodies could take and how he wanted to watch as she crested wave after wave of pleasure that he had created in her.

When he pulled himself from her, going to his knees between her legs, he watched as the cold air that replaced his heat caused gooseflesh to rise along her and finally catching and holding her eye, he slowly loosed the frogs that held his form fitted, reinforced leather jerkin to him. Taking his time he began to describe the way she looked to him laid stretched out along the floor and when he had finally freed himself, he tossed it on the couch next to them and laid is hands on her bent knees. Letting his hands slide slowly down her thighs until they came to rest lightly at her waist, he bent over her and began letting his lips and tongue play along her stomach until he found the light downy hair he knew would lead him down to his objective. Still he spoke, even as his tongue found the hard and swollen nub he sought he would stop to describe what he was doing, how she tasted and in the end it was the gentle vibrations of his voice against her that sent her spiraling out of control. Watching as she arched and moaned, feeling the weight of her release crashing through her, Fenris felt his own desire begin to rekindle and he knew this time he would have far more control of himself.

While she panted, struggling with what he’d unleashed inside her, he pulled away again, this time to struggle out of the leggings that were still tangled around his legs. Tossing them aside without care, he again knelt between her legs to trace a path of light kisses along the smooth skin of her inner thigh. Smiling to himself when the muscles twitched under his lips, when he reached the juncture he slipped his tongue between the outer lips of her sex and gave the nub he’d just teased to abject sensitivity a quick flick before moving on, enjoying how her entire body jerked when he did. Working his way slowly up her he let his hands and mouth do all the talking that was required, making sure to seek out those places he knew were most sensitive as he went. When he found her neck and the angry bite he had put there, he lightly ran his lips along it, apologizing to her as he did. She was beyond caring about pain or forgiveness at this point and using a hand buried in his hair she pulled him away from it so that she could slant her mouth across his, demanding something from him that only he could give her. Growling deep in his throat, Fenris answered her by pressing himself against her entrance but not pushing past it. When she groaned into the kiss her frustration, he tore his mouth from hers and found her ear.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, this time in the Common Tongue as he pushed just the barest hint of himself into her, stifling a groan as he felt her tighten around him as he promptly pulled back out. She didn’t answer but he could feel her tight as a drawn bow beneath him. Repeating the maneuver, this time steeled against her reaction he demanded, “Answer me Marian, is this what you want?”

“Yes!” she finally responded, somewhere between a hiss and a moan and Fenris smiled enjoying this game. Straightening his arms so that he hung over her and could watch he slipped himself into her, again only giving her a small fraction.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice soft and sensuous and teasing. “Wouldn’t you rather have this instead?” With that, he lunged himself into her, burying himself as deeply as he could, watching as her frustration vanished only to come back again as he did not pull back. Her hands, which had landed on his biceps as he had pulled up, curled and dug her nails into him. Ignoring the pain, he caught her eye intently and asked, “Which would you have me do, Marian?”

“All of it,” she groaned promptly, realizing that the teasing would never end if she didn’t answer.

“All of it?” he repeated questioningly, pulling himself back until only fraction was still inside her, “Do you mean this?”

With that he thrust himself into her again, this time not pausing before pulling back.

“Yes!” she whimpered and her pleading finished the game. Fenris set a slow rhythm, one meant to push them both gently to their climax because he still had something he wanted to say. Dropping himself to his elbows, he growled, “Look at me.” When she did he started speaking.

“ _No_ man will ever do this but _me_ ,” he told her in the Common Tongue. “So long as I draw breath I will kill any man who tries, _slowly_. I have nothing, I _am_ nothing but with you I have a purpose, a reason and I will _not_ let that go easily. You are _mine_ and I will never voluntarily leave your side. I want to sleep with you against me and I want to wake to your smell. I want to die in _your_ arms.” Pausing as his own passion began to overtake him, he kissed her with all the feeling that was penned up inside him. Finding her ear when he reluctantly ended the kiss from lack of air he whispered, “I will not lose anyone else, least of all you.”

Hawke moaned, torn between what he was saying and what he was doing. Turning she caught the lobe of his ear in her teeth and bit down until he hissed, then whispered with vehemence to equal his, “I love you Fenris, with everything in me and I _want_ no one else. Everything I have is yours.” Fenris’s rhythm faltered, but only slightly as the gravity of what she had said hit him square. She had freely given to him the power he could not bring himself to give her, even with the strength of his feeling for her. She seemed to sense it because she whispered, “I don’t need to hear it, _I_ _already_ _know_.”

Fenris groaned, lengthening his thrusts and refusing his own release until she had found hers. When finally she gasped, arching into him and nails digging furrows into his back with the strength of her climax, he let himself surrender to the thundering tension inside him. Spent beyond description, not only by their lovemaking but by the entire night and all its emotion and turmoil, Fenris was asleep almost the second he rolled from her and so deeply that he didn’t notice when she left, returning with pillows and blankets from the bed. Grumbling as she covered him, he reached out and pulled her to him, curling himself around her and as she relaxed into him she mused how he knew exactly what he wanted, even in his sleep.

* * *

Fenris awoke to an amused clucking and looking up found himself staring up into the face of the Knight-Commander. He was leaned against the back of the couch over them, taking in the sight of the two people who had surrendered themselves to his charge as they lay sleeping on the floor. Scowling, Fenris glared up at him as Hawke began to stir and Cullen spoke.

“I provided you with a bedroom you know,” he chuckled amused, “One that has a perfectly good bed inside it.”

The sound of Cullen’s voice crystallized Hawke’s usual grogginess and thrust her to full wakefulness as she looked over her shoulder at the man invading her morning with his mocking. Sighing and pulling one of the blankets around her she quickly found her feet, hoping that the maneuver had looked more graceful than it felt because sleeping on the wood floor had left her stiff and fired off a nonchalant, “Wasn’t hard enough for what we had in mind.” With that said, she retreated to the bedroom, leaving Cullen staring after her. ‘So I see,’ Cullen thought as he took in the bruises along her arm, the bite on her neck that her hopelessly tangled hair refused to cover. Looking at Fenris who was now standing unashamedly as he searched for his leggings and seeing the bruise on his cheek and the angry scratches along his back, he mused that it must have been one interesting… fight? Whatever it had been he was suddenly glad that his own position prevented these kinds of displays. Letting his attention shift to the lyrium markings that he could now see in their entirety, he wished he knew more.

“You know Vistana would love to get a look at those,” he remarked.

Fenris could feel the man’s eyes as they followed his tattoos and he paused to glower at him before sitting so he could shove his feet into his leggings.

“I will not be studied,” he growled, meeting the Knight-Commander’s eye directly. “I will not be poked, prodded or experimented with. Ever again. I will gladly kill the man… or woman trying.”

Cullen nodded, completely understanding the vehemence behind that statement even if he knew he would never truly understand the experience behind it. Sighing, he studied the man before him as he stood to do the lacings on his leggings, and mused aloud.

“You are an interesting man Fenris,” he quipped. “And not just because of those, despite them I think. What little you have told me would probably have broken a lesser man.”

“A lesser man,” Fenris responded without shame at the words he spoke because he had come to terms with this fact long ago, “Wouldn’t have _survived_ it. Lesser men _didn’t_ survive it. I wasn’t the first, just the last. Danarius wanted a pet, one that could guard his back and cause both friends and rivals to shudder and he didn’t let failure stop him.”

Cullen took that in, his mouth bowed at the thought that one man could again and again do something he knew could potentially kill, knowing the pain and anguish it caused, just to be able to say that he had done it. Cullen well understood what holding lives in your hand felt like; he knew that at any moment he might be called upon to kill any one of them. The responsibility weighed on him like a stone and he could not understand anyone who did not feel remorse at the thought of causing pain or death. Being a Templar he felt a great animosity for the entirety of the Tevinter Empire and everything that it stood for. He tolerated their mages inside his city because he had no choice but one too many times in his short lifespan a story had come to him of the depravity of this culture of magic, one with undeniable proof and not some alehouse speculation. Ones like Fenris’s. Cullen shook his head, amazed that the whole of Tevinter hadn’t fallen in on itself, fueled as it was by the selfishness of the few at the great expense of the many.

“One day we should talk,” he pointed at Fenris as he picked up the remains of the nest the two of them had made. “We could learn a great deal from each other.”

Fenris stopped to look at the man who had well earned his ire, paused by the open frankness of his tone and surprised at the bare guilelessness of his expression. Nodding cautiously, not entirely sure that this wasn’t another of the devious man’s games Fenris turned his back and left him to his thoughts.

“Oh,” Cullen’s voice followed him, having now remembered his reason for being there, “Varania has agreed to meet with you both. Over breakfast so make yourselves decent and keep the brawling to a minimum if you please!”

Hawke sighed as she slipped her boots on her feet, having opted for trousers and a tunic and looked up at Fenris as he threw the blanket and pillows on the bed. He met her eye and they looked at one another, an uncomfortable silence filling the space between them. The night had been rife with revelations and both were still processing them. Finally Fenris sighed sadly and turned away to pilfer through the wardrobe to find a shirt, feeling her staring at his back. As he tugged one out, she spoke.

“We need to talk.”

“Later,” he responded, not sure he wanted to get into this with Cullen lounging in the other room. Looking over his shoulder before he slid the shirt over his head, he saw she was staring out the window at the fresh snow. “When we are alone.” She nodded absently, her thoughts obviously somewhere else right at the moment and Fenris couldn’t decide if he should be offended by that. What he didn’t realize was that her thoughts weren’t focused elsewhere; they were in fact, firmly affixed to him.

* * *

Hawke watched as Fenris’s face became an absolute study in blankness as they quietly followed behind Cullen and Kirill, both Templars forgoing their armor for this occasion. Behind them though two fully armored and armed Templars followed at what could be called a discreet distance as they climbed several stories higher into the Gallows. Hawke knew that the upper stories were dormitories, where both Templars and mages had their rooms but she had never been there. She had really never been more than a few stories into the Gallows proper. As they turned off the stairs and headed down a long mostly featureless hallway, she glanced at Fenris out of the corner of her eye and could see that try as he might, the closer they got to their objective that blankness he was striving for wasn’t making it to his eyes. They were intent and had just a shade of fear to them though she knew the only reason she could see it was because she knew him. Even with the uncomfortable tension between them her heart ached for him and without thinking, without looking at him she slipped her hand into his.

Fenris could feel an almost panicked tension climbing from his gut into his throat. Struggling to keep his expression neutral, struggling not to turn and run because this woman was the only concrete proof that he even had a past and the thought of it scared him to the roots of his soul, he began breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, they way he did when he fought, trying to find that same centered peace. In all his limited memory the only time he ever felt at peace, with no fear and no remorse was when he had a sword in his hand and an opponent before him. Glancing sideways at the woman beside him he silently amended that. She had brought him peace but much like battle this peace had a price and the scars she left, though not so visible were no less there. Just when the stress of this interminable walk was starting to crack his will, her hand slipped wordlessly into his, her fingers slipping between his when he automatically spread them to accommodate hers. Squeezing gently, he sighed and decided he could face this. If she could face her past with the quiet dignity she did, then he could face his own with equal poise.

When Cullen came to a stop, looking at the two of them a moment before knocking politely on the door and pushing it open, Fenris felt like his feet had been nailed to the floor. When Cullen politely stepped back, holding his arm out to indicate they should precede him, Fenris watched as Kirill disappeared through the door and simply could not convince his body to move. Hawke looked up at him, seeing the fear he was no longer capable of even trying to hide as he stared at the open doorway and reached up to gently turn his face to her. With his attention diverted she pressed her forehead to his and didn’t say anything, just stared into his eyes and willed him to find the courage to step through that door. Fenris gazed at her a moment, at the softness in her eyes and closed his own. Nodding wordlessly he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before stepping away from Hawke. Hawke watched as he disappeared and looked at Cullen, surprised to find him studying her instead of Fenris. His look was enigmatic, like he wasn’t sure what to make of what he had just witnessed and lifting her chin she shot the Knight-Commander a look that warned him not to make anything of it as she walked past him.

Fenris’s step faltered when he saw the woman that was affectionately embracing Kirill. Her mage robes were a simple dark, deep green trimmed in black. Her hair was a fiery auburn that she had piled into a bun, wisps of it already escaping to curl around her face. High cheekbones, a delicate jaw, eyes the same green as her robes… Kirill had taken after her in very nearly everything but coloring. Blinking, he suddenly remembered another face, one whose hair was more grey than red, whose eyes were that same color but deeper, more careworn and sad. This face was so vivid, so detailed that he very nearly stepped away but instead shook his head. When he looked back she was staring at him over the shoulder of her son and she saw in her eyes and echo of the same fear that would have stopped him in his tracks if it had not been for Hawke. When Kirill stepped away and turned, Fenris saw that the young man was still holding her hand, staring at him and daring him to do anything that might cause her pain. Blinking at the protectiveness this young Templar showed for his mother, despite having been sent away to be raised in another city-state, despite the fact that she was a mage that was in his charge Fenris suddenly understood why. Why Cullen had been so careful, why he had used Kirill and why they all now stared at him like he was a wild animal, unpredictable and dangerous.

The memory washed over him like an incoming tide, undeniable and unstoppable, and turning away from them all Fenris planted both hands against the wall staring at the pattern of the plaster and struggling to breathe. This was no distant memory hidden behind some corner of his subconscious; this one was clear and present, one from his time under Danarius’s thumb and oh how it must have amused him.

He remembered a tailor’s shop, not one that Danarius habitually visited, one that he had decided spur of the moment to stop in. He remembered the magister’s rage and remembered that he didn’t understand it but he rarely completely understood anything Danarius did and frankly didn’t care to. His blind rage was really the only thing that made the incident memorable because rarely did Danarius lose his sense of control. But he had done as he had been ordered, just as he always did. Taking a coin purse from Danarius he had found the slavers as ordered. He had accompanied them back to the tailor’s and waited with them, following the elven woman that had so offended the magister that he would go to these extremes. He had watched as she was drug into an alley and knocked unconscious and as ordered made sure she was gagged and taken away. He had known that this woman’s fate was to be sold to a brothel because it was what Danarius had paid for. And he had never once asked why. He was a slave and it was not his place and this woman was a stranger to him, no one of any concern. Nothing….

Cursing Danarius, cursing fate and most of all cursing himself he struggled as he felt his lyrium flare, expressing for anyone who understood just how traumatic this was for him. He heard Hawke, could hear the gentle concern in her voice, felt her hand as landed on the back of his neck stroking at the tension that sang along him. Turning his head to look at her, he didn’t even try to hide what he was feeling. He could see she didn’t understand it but that didn’t matter, not to her and not to him. Finally finding the strength to turn and face Varania, he studied her a moment before gently pushing Hawke aside and striding to her. He saw Kirill straighten and her eyes widen but he ignored them both and as he came to a stop before her he did something he had vowed he would never do again – he knelt at her feet.

“I… I didn’t know,” he swore to her, staring at the black trimmed hem of her robes. “I am so sorry, but I didn’t know.”

Silence greeted his words, one so very pregnant with the different thoughts of everyone in the room. Above him Varania considered him thoughtfully, the only other person there that truly understood just what he was offering to her. As a former slave she knew that he was giving himself to whatever vengeance she wished to take and she knew she wanted none of it. Crouching down, she laid a light hand on his shoulder and ignored how his tattoos brightened at her touch.

“Would it have been different if you had?”

Fenris stared at the floor and didn’t answer. He wanted to believe it would have, that he would have defied Danarius but he knew in his heart that he would never be sure. This chance had passed long ago. Varania understood his silence and reached out to hook his chin, forcing him to look up at her. She didn’t say anything for a long while, just studied the grief and regret etched into his face and nodding, she urged him to his feet.

“It’s past Fenris, dead and gone. I learned long ago that regret is a poison, one that will destroy you if you let it.” Tears welled up in his eyes and he didn’t try to contain them. Varania watched as he silently mourned for opportunities long since past. Nodding, she reached out and pulled him to her, embracing him and his pain as she whispered, “Tears are good. They wash the soul if you let them.” Pausing, she turned and whispered, “I never made it to the brothel. I managed to escape them before that.”

Fenris sobbed, burying his face in her shoulder and holding her so tight she was sure she would have bruises but didn’t protest. Instead she began humming lightly, stroking his hair and Hawke stood spellbound because she recognized this tune. It was the same lullaby that Fenris had sung to her, so very long ago. Again this face, the one so like Varania but older flashed into his head and Fenris suddenly understood this was their mother. This was the woman who had held him not unlike how Varania now held him, comforting him with this same hummed tune whenever he had run to her with barked knees and stubbed toes. Oh and he could remember Varania, younger than him but faster as they chased each other in the courtyard behind their father’s store, annoying the apprentice that worked with their father making simple, sturdy but colorful garments favored by the working classes in Minrathous. Father… he remembered him tall, towering over him and sternly telling them to find a quieter game as he flicked the braid he used to tame hair long and the same blue-black as a raven’s wing. Even then Fenris had thought he looked tired.

Overwhelmed, with grief, with relief, with all the realities and what ifs, Fenris sobbed until he had no more tears to give and even then he stood trembling and unwilling to release her. She was real and yes she was the concrete proof that he had a past but it no longer scared him, at least not in the same way.


	42. Chapter 42

Hawke stared out the window at the heavy mantel of snow that blanketed the Gallows. The clouds and sea mist were so heavy that Kirkwall was just a dim, vague shadow in the distance. She couldn’t hear it but she knew that the wind was howling outside because she could see the white tipped waves as they crashed along the shore far below. Winter’s first harsh storm was early this year, cutting the autumn short and huddling the masses inside, waiting for its wrath to pass. Behind her Fenris and Varania sat talking in low tones, their voices carrying but their words too soft to be understood. Kirill still stood behind her chair, unwilling to give up his vigil over her just yet but Hawke had felt somewhere like her own presence was an invasion. Anything said that Fenris wanted shared she was sure he would do so. Cullen must have felt similarly because he stood near the door, watching as the two quietly worked at becoming reacquainted with one another. At first it had been awkward but eventually warming and Hawke mused that she could not remember him so open, not even with her. But, she supposed that was as it should be, her own relationship with her brother was nothing to judge by. When someone stepped up to the window beside her, she was surprised to see it was Varania. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that Fenris was now in conversation with Kirill.

“It’s a soothing view,” Varania observed, her voice melodic, “Most days but apparently not today. Our weather this season has been most erratic. We only barely had a spring before the heat of summer was on us. Now it would seem we are to have a winter that is just as eager.”

“I can remember a few years like that,” Hawke responded evenly. “During the year I was Viscount I had to deal with a city-state at a standstill for the snows and the shortages because of it. Nothing could be brought in by land and the storms made delivery by sea too dangerous for most captains. It seemed like the only thing we didn’t lack that winter was snow.”

Varania nodded because she remembered that year. It was still a benchmark that winters in Kirkwall were compared to now.

“Wood,” Varania commented. “That was what I remember missing. At one point we were breaking up furniture to burn here in the Gallows.”

“You weren’t the only ones,” Hawke remarked dryly, eyes sad. “I lost count of the deaths in Darktown. Even Lowtown, the Alienage… everywhere.” Hawke looked at Varania out of the corner of her eye, wondering at the life that had started in Tevinter and ended here in Kirkwall, in the Circle of all places but her mother’s training was far too strong in her to ask, at least not yet. Instead she asked something else that bothered her. “Why do you call him Fenris?”

“Is that not his name? Both Cullen and Kirill call him that and I assumed….” Varania looked at her guilelessly. “In my head he is still Leto but I know he doesn’t remember that. ‘Little wolf’,” she mused, looking back out at the view. “It fits him. Father was forever scolding him for getting into things, said he was too curious for his own good. Mother was really the only one capable of getting him to settle himself. He had far more energy than any four boys needed and a singular stubbornness that kept him on a path no matter what the repercussions might be. It was that stubbornness that got him in Danarius’s little training camp. Even at that age he could plainly see that Danarius’s guards got the best because Danarius was no fool. He knew even the lowliest slave could look the other way so his guard were kept well. Leto saw that and he volunteered so that he could give us what he could.”

Hawke looked over her shoulder and found Fenris watching the two of them, his face giving away nothing but his eyes soft.

“He stayed headstrong, far more so than a slave was usually allowed but Danarius was indulgent with those children he was fostering into his guard. He would tell them that they were useless to him as whipped dogs, and his favors bought him their loyalty. It breaks my heart to see where this loyalty led him.”

Hawke sighed and deciding she didn’t want to hear more, not now, she asked lightly as she turned back to the window, “Who is Kirill’s father?” When Varania looked at her, eyes hardening just a touch, Hawke sighed. “We both can do the math, and I know how bad the Circle was then.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Varania sighed, deciding this woman’s direct question was not meant to hurt. “Cullen has been everything a father should be for Kirill and I am eternally grateful for it. Parentage is more than planting a seed.”

Hawke nodded because she knew she was right and her evasiveness was all the answer she really needed.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“I know.”

The two women fell to silence, one that was not entirely comfortable but that was at least companionable.

Fenris watched as the two women felt each other out. His attention was divided because Kirill was asking some very astute questions about Tevinter. Apparently his mother didn’t speak of her past often and Kirill, not wanting to upset her, kept his peace. But he was curious about his heritage and Fenris presented an opportunity for him to satisfy that. Cullen, realizing where their conversation had turned joined them.

“So the Magisters are elected to the Senate?”

“If that is what you want to call it yes,” Fenris replied lightly. “They are elected by landed nobles, most of which are Magisters themselves and or have very close ties with them.”

“So,” Cullen asked, “A non-Magister could conceivably be elected to the Senate?”

“Well yes,” Fenris reminded himself that they didn’t understand. “Conceivably yes, they could. All that is actually required by law is that you be a landed noble. However in practice that is never the case. No man or woman without not only a connection to the Fade, but a strong one at that would ever even think to try. It would be suicide – literally.” Fenris sighed and tried to think how to put this into a frame they could understand. “I lived within earshot of Danarius long enough to know something of how your kingdoms work. How there is all this power-struggle going on beneath the surface all around your monarchs and sometimes that struggling erupts into open murder and warfare? That is the Tevinter Senate. Landed nobles with an agenda will curry favors, winning support and more often than not with money or favors of their own. The more powerful the Senator the more it will cost you but it is not unusual for Senators opposing to… disappear? Die ‘peacefully’ in their sleep? Danarius had a great deal of power in the Senate and was rarely opposed.”

“But if Senators are murdered….”

“There is an investigation but it rarely goes anywhere. Power protects power. The Archon rarely does more than note the death. He understands that his life is just as forfeit should he push too hard. Tevinter Imperial Archons are notorious for their paranoia.”

“And Danarius, as a powerful Senator, had reason to be paranoid as well.” Cullen observed.

Fenris nodded.

“And that is why he did this to you?” Kirill asked quietly.

“Yes.” Fenris sighed, deciding that as much as he hated discussing it, better to do it now and get it over with. “I was apparently trained from a young age, taught how to be a precise killer. And once I had… proven myself this was my reward.” He held up his hands, showing the brands along them. “I was rewarded with a lifetime of pain, degradation, humiliation and fear – my own as well as that of others. Even Magisters were fearful of me, of what they knew and suspected I could do because even _I_ am not entirely sure of the scope of it. I was made into a living weapon, something that has rarely been seen but remarked upon often because Magisters worship their magic while giving lip service to their version of the Chantry. My reason for existing was simply to protect Danarius whatever the cost and keep him happy, again whatever the cost. In order to do that I had to learn to read everything around him, _everyone_ around him and I had to learn to read him as well, to _anticipate_ him and understand the costs for failure.”

“What could he do?” Kirill asked innocently, “He had far too much invested to just kill you.”

“There are worse things than death boy,” Fenris murmured, his face hardening. “And believe me when I say that Danarius knew them all.”

Cullen considered that thoughtfully.

“Vistana assures me that those… marks give you a connection to the Fade, but that you are no mage.”

“I cannot shape magic to my will,” Fenris sighed. “I can only bend it to it. I do not understand it any more than you Cullen. I only know what I was told and that was precious little. It really doesn’t matter to me either. I survived the ritual, I survived the trial of learning to live with it, and it is there if and when I need it. That is all I want or need to understand.” Fenris regarded Cullen a moment, eyeing the thoughtful expression as he considered what Fenris had said. “I have never deluded myself into thinking that I was necessary to Danarius. He was more than capable of taking care of himself; I was simply one of his playthings. A useful one but still….”

Cullen nodded.

“If it were possible to rid you of those tattoos,” Kirill asked, intently curious, “Would you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I do not remember it, but I apparently did what I did to earn them with the best of intentions. At first I will admit I considered them a curse and sometimes still do, but as time has gone by I have come to realize that they are a badge of honor and what honor does not come at a price? I survived and I would not be who I am or where I am without them.” Fenris sighed.

“And it helps that you are now free to bend them to your _own_ will and not Danarius’s.”

Fenris looked at Cullen sharply. The Knight-Commander, he was coming to see was very astute at reading between the lines.

“Yes,” he growled, “It does.”

“I hate to say this Fenris,” Kirill observed, “But Tevinter sounds like the worst place in all of Thedas.”

Fenris regarded Kirill a moment as a soft rustling told him that Varania was returning.

“It isn’t all that way,” Varania remarked, having heard bits of the conversation. “Not everyone is cruel and not everyplace is as debased as Minrathous. Tevinter is like everywhere else, it has two faces. Minrathous just shows her ugliest expressions without shame is all.”

“But the rest of Tevinter tolerates it!”

“Because,” Hawke interjected lightly, looking at Cullen as she did. “They think they have no choice. One day maybe they will come to understand there is _always_ a choice.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed but he made no comment. This too was an old argument between them.

“Kirill,” Varania sighed, “I would be the last person to defend Tevinter but I also understand that very few things are completely evil. If it were, then explain to me why Cullen has not made me Tranquil or killed me outright for blood magic? Why am I here, in this Circle working to master the art of healing when I could just as easily have chosen to master more destructive arts? I am Tevinter but I am not evil so why tarnish everyone from there with the same brush?” Reaching out to slip an arm around the young man’s shoulder she sighed. “I have met Magisters with more common decency than members of the most noble houses here in the Free Marches. And I have met beggars on the streets of Minrathous with more than some members of your Chantry. Not everyone is like Danarius and his ilk. That would be like Hawke saying that all Templars are like Knight-Commander Meredith.”

 “More than a few are,” Kirill sighed, looking at her sadly.

“No,” Cullen amended quickly, “Very few are and thank the Maker for it. Meredith had her reasons for being suspicious and paranoid long before she came here. Kirkwall broke more than a few mages and more than a few Templars with her secrets.” He paused when Kirill looked at him oddly. “It isn’t my place to explain Kirill, but it is part of your training and one day you will know the truth. No most of the Chantry’s Templars are the way they are because that was how they were taught and if there wasn’t still hope for the Order then I wouldn’t have been able to find enough to repopulate the Circle in Starkhaven as quickly as I did and I wouldn’t be considering more.”

“More?” Hawke blinked at him in surprise. “Are you sure the Seekers were here looking for me and not to find evidence they could use to drag you to Orlais?”

Cullen sighed and didn’t answer. Astute as ever, he knew she could be right. It was entirely possible that the White Divine saw his efforts as a threat when they were in fact a good faith effort to find the balance here in the Free Marches that the rest of Thedas had irrevocably lost. When he looked at Hawke he saw that she was lost in her own thoughts because she had suddenly realized that she was going to be asking far more from Cullen than she had originally thought. If Val Royeaux suspected Cullen of using this crisis to consolidate power for himself here in the Free Marches, if he did lend his support to her cause they would definitely view that as proof. When she finally met his eye Cullen saw she was troubled and when his own brows drew together in confusion she just shook her head and looked away but not so fast that Cullen didn’t see the flash of guilt that crossed her face.

* * *

Hawke stood watching Fenris, her shoulder leaned to the doorframe of the sleeping chamber. When they had finally returned to their rooms it had been early in the afternoon and he had been restless. Finally she had sent a message to Cullen, asking if it would be allowed for him to spar with someone and Cullen had sent a message back volunteering. Not telling Fenris where they were going, saying simply that they were meeting the Knight-Commander, they had followed their Templar guards and Cullen, ever the efficient leader, had seen to it that Fenris’s armor was delivered. When Fenris realized what she had done, he said nothing. Instead he had cupped her cheek in his palm and laid his forehead to hers, gazing gratefully into her eyes before turning away to nod his agreement to the session.

Word had quickly spread among the Templars that not only was the Knight-Commander sparring, he was sparring with the unusual elf that so few had seen but that everyone was talking about. Hawke’s own identity, it would seem was not remarked on among them. Instead her companion was what was sparking talk. Soon every Templar that wasn’t currently on duty was gathered to watch and it was agreed that rarely had they seen so serious a session. At first Fenris had held back, not wanting to seem that he was trying to overpower the Knight-Commander but it soon became apparent that Cullen was no mere administrator to the Order. He was a potent fighter in his own right, and that sword and shield he carried strapped to his back was in no way decorative.

Around her Hawke listened as Cullen’s Templars remarked on Fenris’s fighting style, something none of them had seen and which went against all the things they had been taught. His style was open, loose and relaxed and almost appeared to be a challenge to his opponents to come and get him where their own training had taught them to always be guarded, to keep legs and arms tight to the body lest the opponent decide to take them with a strike. Even his armor seemed designed to make his opponent see his extremities as a weakness because his leggings were not reinforced and his arms were mostly bare, a challenge perhaps? Hiding a smile as she listened, Hawke watched as again and again the two men worked to find the weakness in their opponent, both refusing to admit defeat and both ignoring the fatigue that eventually would take out even the best fighters. Finally it had fallen to the man who administrated the sparring ring, an old Templar who taught the recruits and kept Cullen’s men fighting fit to step between them. Cullen, who respected the old Templar beyond description immediately stood down and Fenris, instinctively understanding this man deserved such respect because he was a warrior who _had_ lived to be an old man, sheathed his sword without question. For a few moments the two men eyed each other over the shoulder of their referee, both trying to squelch the frustrations of not being able to outdo the other in a fair fight before finally Cullen had offered his hand. As Fenris accepted it, taking it in his own both men came to a newfound respect for the other one. It was a respect that had potential neither was considering at that moment, but Hawke could see it for what it was.

When they had returned to their rooms Fenris was still restive, though physically drained all the things he had in his head kept him from settling and Hawke had left him standing at a window, staring at the snow while she saw to it that water was brought for a bath. The apprentice mages who carried the heated pails as well as their Templar escort both eyed the man standing with his back to them and Hawke knew that word had spread that this man was a match for their Knight-Commander. For once glad that the Gallows was such a closed society, one cut off from her city of origin, Hawke sighed and found she was glad when they finished and were gone.

Now she stood watching as Fenris drowsed in the big tub that was tucked in a corner of the bedroom, close enough to the fire that the heat of both were lulling him into an exhausted stupor. The already dim light of the stormy day was beginning to darken, signaling an early night and she quietly lit a candle that sat on the mantle of the fireplace and carried it to a table that was not far from the tub. Sighing she went to her knees behind where he sat, slipping her arms around his shoulders and resting her chin lightly on his shoulder. When his hands came up out of the water to clasp to her forearms she ignored the damp that soaked into her tunic. How long they sat like that, comfortable in their silence she didn’t know and didn’t really care either but finally something that had been bothering her all day drove her to speak.

“You will _never_ be ‘nothing’ Fenris,” she whispered. “You are my best friend, my lover, the guardian of far more than my body, you watch over my heart and my soul. You are everything to me because one thing you _do_ have is my heart.”

Fenris didn’t say anything for a long while and she knew he was thinking, giving what she had said the careful consideration he seemed to feel it needed, allowing the comfortable silence to fill the void. When finally he spoke, his voice was gentle, like he was trying to avoid the pain he knew it would cause.

“Why did you lie to me?”

Hawke sighed painfully, more hurt that she could express at the plaintive undertones of his voice. He needed to understand, this she knew. This wound she had delivered would never heal if he couldn’t understand it and she struggled for a while within herself to find the words until finally deciding explanations would not do. Only the bare simple truth, no matter how painful to her would make him understand.

“I was afraid.”

Fenris grunted and she wasn’t sure how to take that so she just held her course, letting the silence fall again. Fenris considered her simple words, whispered so earnestly into his ear and knew they had to be the truth. For so bold a woman to admit to fear he knew she had just bared something to him, something tender and painful, something that he knew if he struck would burn her to her core. And he was again amazed by her, that she could leave herself open to such an attack, that she trusted him that much that she could so easily put herself in his hands, consequences be damned. Not sure what to say, not trusting his voice not to do the damage she’d opened herself to, he simply nodded. He could understand fear and he could understand the lengths it could drive one to. It had driven him to things he could only just barely consider now and he hoped the shame they brought him could be atoned for in his lifetime. That it had been her that had brought him out of his shame, his anger, and his resentment at the world as a whole for allowing him to be put in that position was not lost on him. The lie, he decided, that could be forgiven. The rest? Well, that he wasn’t so sure about.

Hawke watched wordlessly as he pulled from her grasp without comment and began scrubbing the grime and sweat from himself.  He could feel her there still knelt behind him and knew his silence was wounding her but he didn’t know what to say to fix it so he stubbornly held his tongue. When he finally stood, ready to step out of the tub he was struck still when he saw her standing there, a towel open and waiting for him to step into. Deep in his gut he felt the stirrings of memories he wished only to forget but he knew she was trying to atone and some small and petty part of him decided to let her. Stepping out of the tub and into the towel, he watched intently as she silently dried him, starting at his shaggy mane and working her way down until finally she dropped the damp towel to the floor and for the first time met his eye.

She could see a great many things there, swirling through them but the one that struck her was tenderness and without thinking she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, lying her head on his shoulder, her face buried in his neck. Relief the likes of which she had never known in her life flooded through her when his arms slipped around her and she knew she had been forgiven this one trespass. Grateful and at a loss as to how to express it, she finally took his face into her hands and began pressing feather light kisses along his brow, the bridge of his nose, his closed eyes. When she worked her way across his cheek, following his pronounced cheekbones and found herself at his ear, she ran the tip of her nose up to its peak, then lightly ran her lips down to the lobe. When he did nothing to stop her, simply sighed at the intense eroticism of what she was doing to him she stayed her course, letting the very tip of her tongue explore every crease and divot she found. As she did she began letting her hands explore his shoulders, his back before dragging her nails lightly down its length. When he threw his head back, growling deep in his chest and letting one of his hands to slide down to her backside to press her against the hard length of him she gasped. As she gently nipped at the cords of his neck Fenris decided not only had he had enough, he knew exactly what he wanted. Burying his hands in her hair he pulled her away and meeting her eye intently, began pushing her down.

This was not something he often asked from her though he had to admit it felt so damn good. The associations attached to this were still strong enough that often they were more than he could tolerate and he would find himself pulling her away and distracting her with other things. Why he suddenly wanted it so very badly now he could not say, he just knew that right now he wanted to watch as she at first struggled to take him in until she loosened her throat to accommodate his length, wanted to watch as eventually the strain of it would take its toll her eyes would tear, wanted to know that she would do this not just of her free will but because he _asked_ it of her.

A little surprised, Hawke could plainly see in his eyes that should she protest he would not pursue it but she found she didn’t want to protest. She wanted to do anything he asked of her because nothing in the world meant more to her. Dropping gracefully to her knees, she trailed kisses along his smooth stomach, down across his hip as she gently took him into her hand. As she ran her tongue along the scar that marred his hip, she slid him through her fingers and stifled a smile when he groaned. When she finally turned her attention to what her hand was doing, he tightened his grip in her hair, holding her just a breath away from him. When she looked up, her eyes meeting his, he pushed himself through her hand until he was pressed to her lips. When her tongue sneaked out, running a gentle circle around the head of him, testing the taste of him, it was all he could do not to shudder. Instead he pressed himself harder to her and feeling her mouth open, slowly pushed himself in until he felt himself buried in the back of her throat. Holding himself there, he watched as she worked to control her reflexes and loosen the muscles that blocked him until finally his entire length was inside her. Groaning he pulled himself out with the same slowness, his eyes finally closing when he felt her tongue teasing along his length as he did.

That was what unhinged him finally, the feel of her tongue. Still holding her head exactly where he wanted it and after several languid, slow thrusts the soft touch of her tongue woke something that wanted the teasing over. Opening his eyes to find her still looking up at him, he growled and thrust himself into her with more force, not pausing for her to find the opportunity to tease he pulled out and thrust forward again. Soon he found a rhythm and holding her eyes he took everything she was offering, used her in the same way he himself had been used but with more kindness, more gentleness than had ever been offered to him. Even as the near mindlessness of his climax approached he watched her, looking for any sign this needed to stop but all he saw was her understanding and desire to do anything he wanted. His final act of kindness was not to completely bury himself in her as he felt himself slip over the precipice and begin emptying himself into her, somewhere remembering the choking feeling of drowning in someone else’s release. As he stood his head thrown back as his throws slowly receded he felt her push at the hand holding her head and a sudden concern shot through him, but when he released her instead of retreating she simply sucked at him, greedy for the last of his seed that was oozing out of him as he slowly softened in her mouth.

“Marian!” he gasped and she smiled as she pulled away finally and watched as his trembling legs could no longer hold him and he collapsed to his knees before her. When he finally pried his eyes open, he gazed at her exhausted, spent and completely grateful for everything she had done today and she leaned into him, sliding an arm around his neck as she curled herself against his chest, listening as his heart thundered in her ear. As its hectic rhythm calmed and his breathing slowed he reached down and hooked her chin, forcing her to look at him. Studying her for a moment, he finally pulled her to her feet with him as he came gracefully off the floor. Whatever it was he was searching for he must have found because finally he pressed his lips to her forehead before taking hold of her tunic and pulling it over her head. Pushing her to sit on the side of the bed, he pulled her boots off and set them aside before hooking her trousers and after a few gentle tugs watched as she divested herself of them and her smalls. Pushing her back into the pillows he covered her and left her to blow out the candle and throw another log on the fire before stretching himself next to her. Lying on his back instead of curling himself protectively around her, she knew he was inviting her to him, to find what comfort she needed in him and she did just that. With her head pressed to his chest and her hand absently tracing the tattoos at its center, she fell asleep to the strong, steady rhythm of his heart.

* * *

At first the polite knocking did little to stir Carver, the last weeks had been exhausting and the last few days in particular had taken their toll. Between Hawke and all the baggage that came with her and the complete shake-up in the household security that the weedy Crow had caused Carver had spent the vast majority of his time with Aveline and his seneschal, trying to sort things through. No surprise to anyone that the Crow had vanished, literally disappearing out from under Aveline’s nose while her attention had been diverted by Hawke’s departure and he hadn’t been seen again. Top that off with his damnable storm and all the headaches that came with it and the last thing Carver wanted was awakened in the middle of the night. Kalina, finally annoyed with his reluctance to rouse had rolled over and literally pushed him to the edge of the bed, admonishing him that it _had_ to be for him for no sane person would be pounding on their bedchamber door at this unseemly hour for _her_. Yanking the covers off him, she delivered a resounding smack to his backside and when Carver jerked from the surprise gravity took hold, delivering him face first to the floor. Sucking in the air that had been so unceremoniously knocked from him and sitting up to glare at his wife who now sat giggling at him in the light thrown from the fireplace, Carver sighed. Pulling himself to his feet he groused loudly at the offending door, “Alright, alright, I’m coming don’t get your privies in a twist!”

When finally he found his robe and stumbled to the door, yanking it open fully prepared to bend the full weight of his displeasure on the head of someone, he was pulled short by the face that greeted him, one whose blue eyes very nearly glowed in the low light of the hall. Before he could find words, a Starkhaven brogue spilled through the door.

“My privies really are _none_ of your concern Carver, but I can assure you they are wet and cold, but _not_ in a twist.”

Gaping at Sebastian, his sleep clogged brain unable to comprehend how this had come to pass, he only barely heard as Orana tried explaining that Sebastian had insisted he be the one that blasted his old friend out of bed, unseemly or no. Waving her off and sending her scurrying to find rooms for the prince and his people, he finally smiled.

“Well you are a sight for sore eyes. Now maybe Hawke will get _her_ privies out of their twist and explain just why she insisted on bringing us all together,” he paused to look suspiciously at the other man. “And just how in the name of all that might be considered holy did you get here so fast? And with a storm raging?”

Sebastian smiled, waving Carver out into the hall so that Kalina could return to her slumbers.

“I was not in Starkhaven. I was touring the estates to see that they were ready for winter. And you forget,” Sebastian chided lightly, “Our winters are always like this. You spoiled Kirkwall types just got a taste of it is all.”

Snorting rudely, Carver turned his step towards his library, leaving Sebastian to follow or not at his leisure and mumbling about how prissy Starkhaven mucketymucks could _keep_ their winters if this was what it was like. Not the least offended, Sebastian followed, chuckling at the Regent’s somewhat sour mood. When he finally caught up with Carver he was pouring brandy into crystal glasses for them, and gratefully accepting one, Sebastian let himself fall into a chair, feeling the strain of the forced ride to Kirkwall. When the messenger had arrived with news of Hawke’s return, he had already known a deep blow was on its way. The birds had gone to roost and refused to come out, the bears were gone, slumbering in their deep caves. All around him his land was telling him that he was likely going to be caught at one of the estates until it blew over. So, leaving the bulk of his entourage at the estate, he had taken the best of the horses and set off at a pace that would have daunted most. But his guards were used to it and the First Enchanter and his Templar guard, who had accompanied the messenger, were too stubborn to complain. When the storm had finally hit, they had been less than a day’s ride from Kirkwall but were forced to take shelter in the barn of a lonely farm for the night. The next day hadn’t dawned much better or warmer for that matter even though the snow had finally slowed to a gentle flurry. The wind was blowing and would kick up snow to blind them, but finally Kirkwall had been on the horizon.

“I’m telling you Carver,” Sebastian finally sighed, “I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. My days of laughing at the elements are over. I rather enjoy my creature comforts too much.”

Carver looked at the man whom he had never really appreciated until his assent to Regent. Much like Aveline their worth as friends had not been tested until then, and it was this man to whom he owed much of his present happiness. Not only had he stayed to help Carver learn the art of leadership, he had hosted him in Starkhaven and introduced him to his demure cousin who now slept peacefully in Carver’s bed.

“You are full of it and you know it,” Carver responded lightly. “You have the land in your blood. Me? Now I enjoy creature comforts.”

Sebastian chuckled, knowing Carver was right. Much as he loved Starkhaven as he grew older he was glad he had not taken her from Goran. His land had seen far too much strife by the time he had returned and he had chosen to remain true to his vows and instead ‘advise’ his simple cousin. Everyone within the city knew where the power lie, knew that they had to gain _his_ approval before Goran would ever give official sanction and knew that as a Chantry brother he would not be swayed by anything except the good of his people. And under Goran’s rule and his gentle tutelage the city-state had thrived. The only real issue was succession. Goran’s wife had died young and he had stubbornly refused to remarry, grieving even now for her. He had no heir, and to his greatest knowledge though that was no testament considering his wild ways as a boy, neither did Sebastian.

“What exactly has brought our dear Viscountess back from the edges of the free world?”

“I wish I knew,” Carver sighed. “She has refused to say anything until your arrival. I am thanking the Maker that you were closer than expected because more of this strain might break something. She’s hiding in the Gallows if you believe that. Hiding from the Seekers or so she claims. I’m not sure she isn’t there to make a point with Cullen.”

“A brave move,” Sebastian agreed after a pause to consider. A lack of bravery had never been one of Hawke’s faults, though sometimes seeing past the end of her nose had. “How has Cullen handled it?”

“Treating her like a guest for now, waiting for you to arrive and her to spill the beans before he decides from there,” Carver took a drink and eyed his friend over the glass. “I have no idea what will happen then. She has Crows everywhere in the city including one of their Masters, and he has threatened to remove her if Cullen refuses to release her.”

“Oh,” Sebastian chuckled, wishing he’d been there to see this one, “I am sure that went over very well.”

“Well,” Carver intoned heavily, “Yes, something like an iron anchor. I was afraid I would have blood on the carpet before it was done.” Pausing he considered how to say what next came to mind but instead he reached under his robe and pulled out a chain. Pulling it over his head he tossed it to Sebastian, who deftly caught it and held the trinket strung on it up to the light. Eyes widening, he looked at Carver closely.

“She gave this to you?” he asked, tipping his head to the Seal of Kirkwall, knowing full well the implications behind Carver’s possession of it. “Of her free will she gave you the city?”

“Yes, and Cullen doesn’t know. I think I would rather keep it that way so keep this secret under your shiny scale mail if you please.”

Sebastian nodded, understanding Carver’s misgivings about Cullen knowing. Cullen might have second thoughts about keeping the Viscount locked away, but he doubted he would think twice if she were just the Champion.

“Well my friend,” Sebastian sighed as he handed back Carver’s trinket. “I am beyond tired and it looks like tomorrow is going to be a revelation unto itself. I would like some sleep before Hawke’s secrets swallow us whole.”

Carver nodded, thinking that Sebastian’s description was probably the most apt.


	43. Chapter 43

Jaroslav considered the view from his room thoughtfully. It wasn’t much, simply the courtyard that was set aside for deliveries but it was silent in the early morning sun. The snow had been gently trampled so far and it clung to every surface it could find, the deep cold of the previous night having frozen the upper layers so that it sparkled now that the sun had returned. He had never been this far south, had never seen the sea. Still hadn’t because their arrival at the city gates had been so late in the night but he had watched as the landscape changed around them.

 Starkhaven proper was perched along the Minanter River, her holdings reaching far south into the plains that were considered the breadbasket of Thedas. Even beyond her boarders, in independent lands where no city-state had claim, the small cities and farms looked to Starkhaven for their livelihoods and in times of strife for their protection. Because of this, the three major city-states within the Free Marches could field a most impressive army. But her lands were gentle, rolling and forested. Farms tamed the land surrounding Starkhaven, bending Mother Nature to man’s will. Still wild forests dotted the land, defying man’s inclination to order. This was where the First Enchanter of Starkhaven and his escort had found the prince, in one of the many estates that the crown kept bringing the news that both of their presences had been requested in Kirkwall - his by the Viscountess, Jaroslav by the Knight-Commander. It was here that, upon reading the communication from the Knight Commander of Kirkwall, the prince had abandoned his party and taking only his personal guards, he turned his horse to the south.

As you rode the land became flatter and the forests fewer and farther between until finally you have to wonder if you will ever see a tree again. Grasslands, as far as the eye can see, with farms dotting the land around you and you could see for miles in every direction. Jaroslav had thought little of this landscape until night fell. With the dark came the stars, impressively arrayed from horizon to horizon with nothing to block them but clouds. He began to understand why those brought to his Circle from these lands were so hardy and practical. It had taken days to cross this grassy desert, days of riding nearly all day and all night, trading spent horses in small towns and farms for fresh mounts as they went.

By late in the second day of this the Vinmark mountains were on the horizon, an almost welcome change to the scenery but their proximity had been deceptive, still far distant and only visible because of the abject flatness of the land. But slowly the landscape began to change again as rolling hills and rocky outcroppings began to appear and with them, trees. Within days they found themselves following treacherous roads along high ridges, steep drops beneath them with tenacious evergreens clinging to the slopes. Here Prince Sebastian had refused to stop, pushing the mounts as hard as he could without killing them and Jaroslav understood. Here the cold already had a hold and snow fell almost all the time in light, airy flurries. Should the winter in the lower reaches come as early as Sebastian feared then being caught up here could prove lethal. By the time they were descending southern slopes fourteen days had past. Their journey had been cut short by a week.

That of course was when, as one of his assistants from Wildervale would say, the other boot had fallen. A storm washed across the mountains that usually protected Kirkwall from the worst of the snow that commonly buried the interior of the Free Marches. Prince Sebastian had hoped that putting the worst of the Vinmark at their backs would be enough but the storm had other plans. Forced by the heavy snow and fierce winds to find shelter, they had all holed up in a barn. The farmer had been most gracious, perhaps impressed that a man with guards sporting the royal insignia of Starkhaven was begging assistance, perhaps not. It was hard to tell with these people that populated the lands just beyond Kirkwall’s holdings. Far more independent natured than those of Starkhaven and quite possibly of the great plains between them, they proudly saw to their own.

Thankfully by morning the worst of the snow had stopped though the damage had been, as they say, done. The deep snow accented as it was with a still high wind, made a trip that should have lasted a day at most end up lasting two; and by the time they had stabled their horses and began the long climb from Lowtown to Hightown and then on to the Viscount’s estate there situated, Jaroslav had begun to despair at the thought of never having feeling again in his cold, wet feet. He was, he decided as he was forced to pause for breath on one of the steep sets of stairs that took you from one part of the city to another, getting far too old for this sort of thing. Ordinarily the mage would have made immediately for the Circle but his Templar escort had been assigned to Kirkwall for years and the Knight knew that it would be suicide to try and make the crossing in this sort of weather. So instead he found himself here, in a guestroom in the Viscount’s estate, his Templar snoring softly as he slept stretched along a couch while the First Enchanter of Starkhaven wondered what the sea would look like.

* * *

The day was bright, almost blindingly so as the sun sparkled off the snow that was now covering the Gallows. Cullen looked down at the courtyard below and decided he would never regret moving the offices of the Knight-Commander out of Templar Hall and putting them here, where he could look out over the entrance to his domain. Both Meredith and her predecessor Guylain had preferred a view of the gardens but Cullen was a practical man. He could well appreciate the gardens for their beauty and all the work that the mages put into them but he much preferred a view that had a purpose, where he could see his Templars and could see the city that he was working to protect beyond even that. Sighing when he heard his assistant, a Tranquil mage that he had inherited from Meredith, he knew it was time to start his day. Elsa was ever available, ever polite, ever discreet and quite frankly ever so creepy. Even after all these years as a Templar the flat affect and emotionless voices of the Tranquil still disturbed him.

“A note just arrived for you, Knight-Commander,” Elsa held up the folded parchment. “It’s from the office of the Viscount.”

Accepting the letter without turning from the view, Cullen wondered what Carver could want now. The storm should have kept him busy for a bit, trying to get the markets clear of snow so that commerce could recommence in a city that seemed to know no end to it. Glancing at the far beaches it would seem that the regardless of the sun the ocean was still restless so the messenger couldn’t have enjoyed his quick jaunt to the Gallows. Popping the wax seal, he read the quick missive not from Carver but from his seneschal, informing him of the earlier than anticipated arrival of the Prince of Starkhaven and the Circle’s First Enchanter. Blinking several times at the parchment before letting his hand drop and returning to the view, he sighed.

“Please send word to the Champion that Prince Sebastian has arrived,” he politely asked Elsa, listening in silence as she turned to go do his bidding. “And send a note back to Seneschal Markard. I don’t want the Prince trying to cross until at least tomorrow. Whatever Hawke has in mind has waited this long, it can wait another day.”

* * *

Sebastian looked up at the ship looming over him as he stood on the dock, hidden in the shadows cast by the early sun before it cleared the sheer cliffs guarding the docks and the crowds that came looking for the freshest catches. Carver had told him everything he knew over breakfast, leaving nothing out. He knew about the Crow camps dotting the landscape outside Kirkwall and Maker alone knew how many inside the city itself. He knew that Isabela and Varric had arrived ahead of Hawke by more than a week, giving time for a message to be sent for him. He also know that Aveline’s people had identified yet another ship, probably the one that had brought Hawke also at dock and that her lieutenant in charge of Kirkwall’s Navy had readily identified the ship as one with known ties to the Pirates of the Waking Seas. Pirates were not a problem that Sebastian had, but he had some experience with them after his time here in Kirkwall, advising first Hawke and then Carver.

He also knew about the kossith woman onboard the Siren’s Call. If there had ever been any doubt that whatever had raised Hawke’s hackles concerned Seheron, her presence ended it. ‘But what,’ he mused, ‘Would bring together pirates, Crows and what was in all likelihood Tal-Vashoth, all under Hawke’s banner?’ Carver worried, fearing conspiracy but if he took the time to consider that he would know that was not Hawke’s style. Though capable of subtlety Hawke very much preferred the direct approach, often bold to the point of rudeness and as often as not about as gentle as a war hammer. Back in the day he had found himself subject to her biting wit as often as he had her wicked flirtations. Even then he’d known both were essentially harmless, a defense mechanism not unlike Isabela’s blatant sexuality, designed to keep other’s off balance and at an arm’s length.

 The only person he had seen get past all that bluster had been Anders, and he suspected that was because Anders recognized something of himself in the young woman. Or at least recognized the man he had been before Justice had twisted him into something with little room for anything but hate. Carver felt that Anders’s attraction to his sister had been nothing but hero worship, envying her life outside the Circles and her ability to use the system to her advantage where he could not; but Sebastian, reared inside a royal household had learned to read people and know their basest motivations early in life - because even in a contented kingdom it could be the difference between life and death. His instincts had failed him more than once in his life, evidenced by the complete surprise when Hawke had helped him uncover the plot that had ended the lives of his entire family, but on the whole he knew them to be reliable and depended on them still to this day. He had never gotten the impression that Anders was ever driven by anything but caring where Hawke had been concerned and that it had been Hawke’s soft influence in his life that had kept him balanced on the edge of the knife that was Justice. It hadn’t been until Hawke had become Champion and began to see Anders for what he was that he had finally given in to Justice, and hadn’t been until Hawke had rejected him completely that he’d finally acted out. And even then it had been at _her_ feet he had fallen, _her_ hand he had asked to end it. Whether that had been an act of despair, wanting her to do it because he knew she understood his torment or an act of anger, knowing that moment, when _her_ knife pierced _his_ heart, would live with her forever was anyone’s guess.

Though Anders’s motivations may have been muddled, Hawke’s had been clear as crystal. Anders was older and despite having been a Circle mage, more worldly than Hawke. Though she could be hard as stone, capable and ready to take on any situations, sometimes regardless of how hopeless it seemed and find a way to not only survive it but come out the other side with herself and her companions intact, there was something in Hawke that begged for someone to take responsibility for her, at least some of the time. Anders had been looking for something similar, a balm for the pain of losing his family to the Circle’s influence, same as Hawke had been looking for someone to step into the void left by the death of her father. The death of her mother, so gruesome and shockingly ignoble had wounded Hawke in ways Sebastian knew he would never understand but it had been Anders that had seen her through it, taking her in hand and giving her a focus. Where before his lessons in healing had been a useful thing for her to know, now they became a passion as she clung to him even as she was coming to realize that he was wrong.

Sebastian sighed; saddened by the direction his thoughts had taken him. He had never really approved of Anders, indeed he had never truly approved of Hawke herself. His training as both a Prince of Starkhaven and as a Chantry brother had been tweaked by their status as apostates and often he had tried to convince Hawke that perhaps the Circle was the best place for her. When she protested, pointing to the heavy hand of Meredith he had offered to take her to the smaller Circle in Ostick. Still she had refused and indeed she eventually _had_ proved her point that she _could_ live the way everyone else did and had done it with the approval of an entire city before she’d been done. But still….

When he spotted Isabela coming off the ship he almost didn’t pay any heed to the tall figure behind her, the deep hood thrown over their head – almost. Something about the way the head stayed down, eyes to the ground and the graceful way figure moved as it came down the rough gangplank caught his attention. His first assumption that this was one of Isabela’s men hiding in a cloak against the cold had been wrong - he could see that now as Sebastian pushed away from the building he had been leaned against. Even in the voluminous cloak this figure was far too sinuous to be any seafaring male. Curiosity piqued because Aveline, who had joined them for breakfast had insisted this woman had not left the ship since the first week it had docked, since before they even realized she _was_ on the ship, Sebastian lost himself in the crowd and followed.

He never noticed when a small shadow disengaged itself from a pile of empty crates close to where he had been standing and followed behind him, fully aware that every Guard in the vicinity was watching the entire drama closely.

What none of them realized, Guard included was that more than a few sets of eyes, hidden both in the shadows and in plain sight were also watching.

Sebastian was not completely surprised when the two made for another ship, one docked far closer to the warehouses. Finding a spot out of the way, he watched as Isabela stopped at the top of the gangway, speaking to another woman as the tall figure looked around. His suspicions were confirmed when, even from a distance he got a quick look at yellow eyes as she pulled the hood back enough for her to see around her. Chuckling and wondering what they were up to, he watched as Isabela turned her foot back down the gangplank, leaving the kossith woman behind. Turning his eye to the name of the ship, he lost himself in thought again.

The Wolf of Rivain was an old legend, one told to him by his grandfather. In his old age, having abdicated his throne to his only son, Sebastian’s grandfather had indulged himself with a lifelong passion for more bardic pursuits. He had over the years learned to play the lute as well as harp and had a fine, strong voice, right up to the day he was killed by the Flint Company at the behest of Lady Harimann. He could almost hear his voice inside his head as he recited the tale told to Antivan children:

_“Discouraged after an unsuccessful day of hunting, a hungry Wolf came on a well-fed Mabari. He could see the Mabari was having a better time of it than he was and he inquired what the Mabari had to do to stay so well-fed._

_“Very simple - guard the house, show fondness to the master, be submissive to the rest of the family and you are well fed and warmly lodged.”_

_The Wolf thought this over carefully. He risked his own life almost daily, had to stay out in the worst of weather, and was never assured of his meals. He thought he would try another way of living._

_As they were going along together the Wolf saw a place around the neck of the Mabari where the hair had been worn thin. He asked what this was and the Mabari said, “It is nothing, just where my collar and chain rub.”_

_The Wolf stopped short._

_“Chain?” he asked. “You mean you are not free to go where you choose?”_

_“No,” said the Mabari, “but what does that matter?”_

_“Much,” answered the Wolf as he trotted back to the deep forests. “Much.”_

His grandfather had remarked that this simple child’s tale explained a great deal about the Rivaini peoples and was a reminder to anyone wishing to do business with them, because they would not be tied to oaths.

Sebastian missed his grandfather more than anyone who had died that terrible day. He had admitted to Sebastian once that he had never been comfortable on the throne and had welcomed the day when his only son had been old enough to take the responsibility from his shoulders. Not that it had wondered too far because it had always been his wisdom that had guided them all and in a very real way still guided him to this day, as much so as Elthina’s. It had been _their_ example he had followed on his return to Starkhaven. He had done so without troops and without the fanfare befitting his status as a prince of the city. Instead he had presented himself to Goran as a Brother in Faith, a loyal subject and a willing advisor and Goran had happily accepted him on that faith.

“By Andraste’s lacy knickers, look who I find standing in the shadows! And all alone without his guards as well? You slumming or something?”

“What?” Sebastian smirked as he turned at the familiar voice, one he hadn’t really noticed missing until he heard it. He should have known Varric would be about somewhere. “You think you are the only rogue who can vanish into the background?”

When Varric laughed at the mildly sarcastic compliment the Prince had given him, Sebastian smiled and held his hand out for the dwarf to clap his into, his handshake as firm as it had always been. Of all the old companions Varric had been Hawke’s closest, the one she ran to with any problem knowing that no matter the risks involved Varric would never tell her no. Aveline had often speculated that the dwarf was smitten with the Champion but Sebastian wasn’t so sure about that. He suspected Varric had found in the human woman the close, familiar affection and acceptance that had always been lacking in his own family and that in many ways Hawke was the brother Varric had wished he’d had. That Varric had been willing to follow Hawke to the ends of Thedas had come as no surprise to Sebastian.

“You look amazingly fit for a man I hear went back to Starkhaven to rule from behind the throne,” Varric observed lightly. “I would have thought by now you would have gone soft from the intrigue.”

“You know Varric,” Sebastian cocked his head, regarding the dwarf with his best royal air about him, “The view from behind the throne has reminded me why my grandfather always told my brothers and I that there is no such thing as a friend to the throne, only those that would use it for their ends. Goran is far too gentle a soul to be sat there without someone to watch the sharks.”

Varric nodded, suddenly serious. He looked up at the Starkhaven Prince with a jaundiced eye.

“You wouldn’t be here trying to get more information would you?”

“Well,” Sebastian thought that one over with some exaggeration, “Yes. But probably not what you think. I was hoping you would introduce me to the kossith woman on that ship because I always have been curious about the Qunari. And since it looks like it will be tomorrow before the sea calms herself and we can all gather at the Gallows, I thought to satisfy that curiosity.”

“See this is what the Templars get for not building a proper dock that something bigger than a fishing skiff can land at,” Varric said while inside he cringed at the thought of a morning fraught with the debate always created when two religions sat down in the same room.

“That was rather deliberate,” Sebastian commented lightly. “Smaller ships mean fewer hiding places.”

“Whatever you say Choirboy,” Varric intoned with a sigh, seeing no reason to refuse Sebastian’s request and not the least bit surprised that he knew about her. They hadn’t really tried to hide her, just keep her on the ship. Hassrath, they kept under wraps because his appearance and demeanor would draw the kind of attention they didn’t want. ‘Or hadn’t anyway,’ Varric mused. With Sebastian in Kirkwall the game had changed. “Her name, or should I say the name she chose for herself, is Maraas. Actually we brought her here to reunite her with a friend.”

“Ah,” Sebastian sighed, “Then perhaps my timing is off.”

“Not necessarily,” Varric shrugged, “So long as you don’t mind looming glares.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows shot up questioningly but Varric didn’t explain, instead he left the Prince to stare after him, his mouth bowed as he tried a moment to work that comment out. Deciding it was easier to simply follow Varric’s lead, he turned to follow the dwarf as he climbed the gangway to the ship.

* * *

When word had come to Isabela in the night of the Prince of Starkhaven’s arrival via the now entrenched network of Crows, it never once dawned on her she was probably getting this information before even Carver. She had however, wasted no time taking the news to Maraas, even if it might mean waking the kossith woman. Over the weeks, indeed months of exposure to the quiet and gentle woman, Isabela’s initial wariness of her and her motives had waned and she found herself rather liking her. Since their arrival in Kirkwall and the bump in the road the Rose had put before them the privateer had found herself feeling more and more protective of Maraas. She was so obviously unhappy being cooped up on the ship and separated from her companion that both Varric and Isabela had taken to trying to distract her. She was now a fair diamondback player and they had even taken to trying to teach her the convoluted rules for Wicked Grace. The often guileless kossith had a surprisingly good talent for bluff. Even the men would see her, that sad look in her eye and they would pull out instruments, dust off shoes and entertain her with songs and dances. Smiling wickedly Isabela mused that Maraas even seemed to appreciate the naughty ditties that they often played.

She had unsurprisingly found her not in her room but on the deck, wrapped in a cloak against a cold that she was unfamiliar with and was not entirely enjoying, though the novelty of snow had banished that somewhat and staring out over the harbor. The Wolf of Rivain was no longer at anchor out there but Isabela had come to see that this was where Maraas would be whenever she was thinking about Hassrath. It was surprising how eyes of such a startling color could look so sad and Isabela paused to consider her. If anyone was a good judge of physical beauty it was Isabela and it mattered not a whit to her if it was male or female. Something in Isabela lacked the natural inclination of women to view other women and envy them their attributes, instead she was more than happy to appreciate them and if allowed, enjoy them as much as any man would. In her own very exotic way, Maraas was pleasing to the eye, both of face and form, and her deferring demeanor would make any man or woman capable of seeing past the odd coloring and unusual philosophy happily. Not that they would ever get the chance, not with Hassrath about. It was clear to Isabela that these two were in their odd little way completely devoted to one another and it was in answer to this devotion that Isabela had searched her out even at this unholy hour.

Maraas took the news of Sebastian’s arrival with the same stoicism she seemed to take everything these days, but when Isabela mentioned that now their reasons for keeping Hassrath hidden and them separated were very nearly gone the light had come back to her eye. The first real interest and excitement about anything going on around her returned, and Isabela had watched as Maraas nodded and then turned her on her heel to return to her room, the one that until their departure from Llomerryn had housed them both and the one that without him Maraas had found herself loneliest. Morning, Isabela suspected would not come fast enough to suit her and that she would probably be pacing the floors until dawn arrived and arrangements could be made.

It had been Klaton who had noticed the man watching the ship from the shadows of the offices opposite the next morning. Isabela had readily recognized him as the one who pledged himself to Hawke after they had broken the backs of the Flint Company in the Free Marches at his behest. Even now they had not returned to haunt the land of independent city-states, perhaps deciding that there was more coin other places. Pausing to consider him while his attention was drawn away from the ship, Isabela decided that the Maker was cruel, for aging women generally just looked old and aging men were as likely as not to be like a fine wine – better for the signs of time. Sighing she assured Klaton he wasn’t a problem and then sent one of her crew with a message for Varric, who hadn’t bothered coming back to the Siren’s Call. Isabela’s eyebrows rose a bit when he returned, telling her that he had found Varric on the Wolf of Rivain and that he had stumbled half awake and half dressed out of the captain’s quarters. She never would have pictured those two together, but there was never any telling who would find comfort in whom. At the agreed upon time she had seen to it that Maraas was hidden as best she could be in a voluminous cloak that on even on some of the men would have dragged the ground and they set off for the Wolf of Rivain.

Maraas was so excited she could hardly contain herself, though unless you knew her well you would never be able to tell. The telltale tremble of her hand as she pulled the cloak over her head, the flare of her nostrils, the way the muscle along her jaw worked as she clenched and unclenched her teeth in an attempt to keep her emotions off her face all gave her away and by the time they were climbing the gangplank to the ship that had housed Hassrath for literally months now, she was so focused on the destination that she lost her footing as she stepped to the deck. Shrawn reached out to steady her and she’d been thanked distractedly. Maraas only vaguely noticed when Isabela left, abandoning her to a captain she only dimly knew and a crew that she had no experience with and Shrawn, seeing the agitation Maraas was incapable of hiding now led her below without comment.

Shrawn and Varric both had come to be concerned with Hassrath though he seemed to suffer his incarceration with stoicism. He was, Varric noted, echoing Shrawn’s own thoughts, too quiet even for a man to which few words was a constant habit. When Shrawn had told him of their plan to bring Maraas to him, the big, glowering man who frankly intimidated both her and her crew had literally scared her with the way his silent demeanor had risen in intensity. If this woman soothed him? Then far be it from Shrawn to object to her presence. Stopping at the door, Shrawn knocked politely before stepping back.

Maraas didn’t need to be told anything, instead pushing through the door until she saw Hassrath standing frozen in place. The two stared at one another for a long time, long enough that Shrawn felt herself wanting to fidget but finally it was Hassrath that recovered first. Striding to Maraas purposefully, he quickly undid the frog that held her cloak secured around her shoulders and pushed the hood from her face, ignoring the garment as it fell to the floor. Looking down at her he studied her carefully, both hands on her shoulders like he was afraid she would vanish like some half-remembered dream and feeling her begin to tremble at his light touch. The intensity of his gaze held her pinned in place until finally he stated gruffly, “Never again.”

She knew he meant he would never be willingly separated from her and she took one of his hands in hers and pressing her lips to the thick, calloused fingers she looked up at him and in a whisper agreed, “Never again.”

All the air in him seemed to escape at once and struggling to get it back he pulled her to him, cradling her gently to him and groaning deep inside his chest as he breathed in the smell of her. They had not discussed what had happened between them in Llomerryn. Even if there had been time neither was confident enough to say anything. Hassrath had started to doubt and that doubt had eaten at him as sure as his fear that something could happen to her and he wouldn’t be there to stop it. Those two ardently whispered words, the almost shy affection in her eyes as she had agreed with him had put his doubts to the sword and now the feel of her against him just strengthened his resolve to _never_ leave her side again. Meeting Shrawn’s eye over her his nostrils flared and his eyes hardened. _He_ _dared_ _them_ _to_ _try_.

Blinking at the challenge she could clearly read in the expression of this kossith, Shrawn held her hands up in supplication, wishing to reassure him that she had no intention of taking anything away from him today or any other day for that matter. Backing down the hallway until they were gone from sight, she took a deep breath and decided Varric could be the one that brought them their meal tonight. She was not going near that door again for a good while.

When she came out into the bright light from the dim gloom she didn’t see Varric or the human with him at first. Blinking as her eyes adjusted, she sniffed. Now who was this? When Varric introduced him, his choice of words very formal but his tone significantly less so, Shrawn blinked. Hawke was the only person who had ever stepped foot on the deck of her ship that was remotely royal and to be honest Hawke didn’t count. This man had been born royal, grown up entitled and stood before her with more right to the crown than the man who wore it. Not sure how to react, she simply held out her hand. Sebastian, having grown accustomed to any number of reactions to his title, simply smiled charmingly and instead of shaking her hand, he took it in his and brushed his lips across her fingers. Varric watched as the hard-bitten woman he had come to carry an affection for blushed. Blushed? Yes, blushed!

“Hey!” he cried mockingly and stepping between them he shooed Sebastian back. “None of that Starkhaven charm stuff, this one is mine.”

When Shrawn’s blush just deepened at that, both men laughed and wishing she had a hole to drop into, Shrawn finally just asked why there was a Prince of anything standing on her ship.

“He wants to meet Maraas,” Varric remarked, watching as Shrawn looked wordlessly at the door she’d just come through.

“Ummm…”

“What?” Varric asked, suddenly concerned.

“I would give them some time.” Shrawn nodded emphatically. “Yeah, definitely. I’m not sure I want to go anywhere near him until he has time to calm down.”

“Him?” Sebastian looked at Varric, then back at Shrawn. “Calm down?”

Varric studied Shrawn, his mouth bowed thoughtfully. She wasn’t the type to back away from anything without good reason. Looking up at Sebastian, he smiled.

“I told you we were bringing her here to reunite her with a friend,” he sighed. “You know, considering Hassrath I think she might be right. How about we go sit and catch up? Least for a little bit?”

Sebastian decided he would accept their judgment and although still just a little confused, the clearly Qunari designation given to this ‘friend’ helped to clear some of the mystery. They weren’t toting around just one Tal-Vashoth, they had two!

* * *

The polite knock at the door hadn’t woken Hawke, but it had roused Fenris. He had accepted the note the mage that greeted him had offered and, reading it without comment, he nodded before closing the door. So this Sebastian was in Kirkwall. Sighing, he laid the short missive on the desk and stared at it, his fingers pressed to the desk next to it. Not entirely sure how to feel about this turn of events, not entirely sure how to feel about any of it because he’d been hit with too much too fast and it had left him feeling just a little numb. Fenris fell back on an old habit - when in doubt, study it. Before long he was lost in his own reverie, staring down at the parchment but his mind somewhere else. How long he stood there, so still that he looked more inanimate that animate, there was no way to know. The only sure thing was what brought him out of it – a low groan, one so filled with dread he automatically fell into a fighting stance before he realized it was Hawke. Eyebrows drawn together in confusion, he realized he could hear her restlessly struggling against whatever enemy her dreams had brought to her.

It never occurred to him to do anything but go to her and standing next to the bed, he watched as her face pulled into a grimace of fear. He had thought these dreams banished because it had been longer than he could count since she had woke him, often with the name of what he now knew to be her abomination lover falling from her mouth. Not even her return to Kirkwall with all its stresses had wrung them from her subconscious. Now suddenly they were back and Fenris fought with himself as he watched her hands clench around the blanket until her knuckles turned white. Some angry part of him thought it poetic justice that this… thing from her past haunted her, some petty part of him almost decided she _deserved_ it. He came very close to hardening his heart against her struggles and walking away even though he knew it could damage what they had beyond repair. But it wasn’t Anders’s name that escaped her clenched teeth, panic evident in every nuance and it struck him hard enough to stagger him, to knock the air from him and freeze him in place.  

“Fenris, please… no!”

Blinking furiously as he tried to work out the riot of things this stirred in him, he finally decided that none of them mattered, not really, and without realizing he’d done it he found himself on his knees next to the bed and his fingers sliding gently along her cheek.

“Marian,” he murmured soothingly, “Marian, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

She seemed to hear him, her eyes rolled under her lids in his direction but the Fade had far too good a grip on her for something so gentle and she continued to struggle. Her legs now were hopelessly knotted in the blankets but still she tried. Even in her dreams she was tenacious. Sliding both hands into her hair to capture her face between them, he held her in place and with far more authority than he felt, he ordered her to wake, his tone sharp even to his own ears. Her eyes snapped open, at first unseeing, uncomprehending anything but the fear and the panic he could see coloring them. Finally they focused on him.

“You were dreaming,” Fenris tried to reassure her, “It is not happening, it is not real.”

She blinked at him, trusting him even in this state but whatever this dream had woken in her would not be so easily banished. He could feel her trembling under his hands and when her hand came up to touch his face as if to comfort herself that he was really there it shook visibly. Finally tears flooded her eyes and she didn’t have the strength to fight them so they spilled from her and it was this silent anguish that absolutely broke his heart to witness. Without thought he pulled her from the bed and leaning back against the wall next to it, he wrapped her in his arms, her face buried in his neck as her tears gave silent witness to just how deep the cut her subconscious had delivered had truly gone. Finally she quieted, the silent sobs receding, the trembling surrendering under the auspices of his soothing touch and the quiet words of encouragement he murmured. Fenris had begun to think she’d fallen back to sleep when she spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

He considered that a moment, unsure.

“For what?”

She was silent a moment, struggling to put to words what she was feeling.

“Everything.”

Fenris sighed. He didn’t need an apology, he needed the _truth_. He considered his next words carefully, somewhere understanding that this was the time.

“Tell me about him.”

Hawke sighed deeply, her breath unsteady and her equilibrium even less so but never once did it occur to her to refuse him.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” he replied with far lighter a tone than he felt. “How did you meet?”

“Varric,” she sighed. “You know I still don’t know why Varric decided to help us? He said it was the reputation we had garnered while working our ‘debt’ off but I knew he was full of shit even then. Sure Carver and I got the job done as often as not but really, what reputation? Kirkwall had a firmly entrenched criminal element back then, probably still does really but we weren’t even a notice to them. No Varric had heard of us somewhere, knew I was a mage and when we showed up trying to convince Bartrand to let us in on his Deep Roads expedition he decided to use us to tweak his brother’s nose I think. But it worked, to our benefit as much as his.

“One thing that was holding the works up was that Bartrand hadn’t managed to find an entrance that wasn’t blocked and Varric had heard of Anders. Actually most of the city had heard of Anders by this time. A healer that defied the Circle? That would heal anyone regardless of their ability to pay him? Unheard of! But the fact he was a Grey Warden hadn’t gotten past Varric so we hunted him down. It actually wasn’t that hard, once you got past all the refugees that were protecting him.”

“I’m sure being one yourself helped,” Fenris remarked.

“Well, you might be surprised, but yes, it helped.” Hawke paused, considering how much of that day to go into and deciding the whole of it. It might not really have anything to do with what came later but it was what he had asked of her. “Anders wasn’t happy to see us. At the time I didn’t know it but it was Justice that sensed we weren’t there for healing and Anders was prepared to fight. Once he understood we weren’t a threat to him or what he was doing, he still didn’t really much want anything to do with us until it occurred to him that we might be able to help him with the reason he was in Kirkwall. He had come all the way to the Free Marches to aid a friend, one that was locked away in the Circle here in Kirkwall.”

The hand that was absently stroking her hair stopped as the implication sank in but Fenris didn’t say anything.

“You have to understand something about the Gallows then Fenris,” Hawke sighed. “About the Circle of Magi in general really. They didn’t even follow their _own_ laws except where it suited them. According to _their_ rules if a mage survives his Harrowing, he cannot be made Tranquil unless he requests it. It was never intended as a way to control mages that might prove difficult, it was what the Chantry considered a kindness to those mages that were too weak to resist the pull of demons or who were too scared to even consider the Harrowing. But in reality it had become a punishment, ‘do as you are told, exactly as you’re told or we will make you Tranquil.’ And any mage that acted out in _any_ _way_ could expect that it was a very real possibility for them.

“That is what happened to Anders friend. We were too late and his communications with Anders had been discovered. The Templars had made him Tranquil and were using him to try and catch themselves an apostate mage. We literally walked into a trap and it was there that we first realized what Anders was. When the Templars were dead, and Anders had regained control of himself from Justice his friend was… I don’t know, not Tranquil? Something about Justice pushed back the effects of the ritual and this man begged to be killed rather than live that way. Pleaded with Anders not to leave him in that state.”

“Did he kill him?”

“Yes, he did though it was obvious it pained him that he had to, that he had failed to save his friend from that fate to begin with.”

“And this got you your entrance to the Deep Roads?”

“Yes, Anders had a Grey Warden map, one with more than a few of them. Bartrand only needed to pick.”

Fenris sighed.

“And was it worth the price?”

“Yes, it was Fenris. I was trying to protect my family. If it were only me then I would say no, but it isn’t that simple for apostate mages. The Templars are as likely to execute the families for harboring an apostate as they are to simply imprison them. I needed the money we got from that expedition to get us out of the seediness of Lowtown where just about anyone would sell you out for a few sovereign and to hide us behind this air of respectability that came with my mother’s family crest. In Hightown no one looks too close for fear of offense. I had already lost my father and my sister, I wasn’t losing anyone else.”

Fenris thought this over, deciding he could understand that. He had seen far worse things done for far less noble causes. He had a few things he didn’t quite understand but decided to leave them and push forward because she had again fallen silent.

“How did Anders explain himself?”

“What? About Justice? He didn’t, not really. Not then. It was later that he told me the whole story, exactly as I told you before. I don’t think he really appreciated what he was getting into when he agreed to host Justice, and when I met him the reality was just starting to set in.” Hawke took a deep breath and considered her words carefully. “You have to understand something about me back then Fenris. Growing up very few of the boys my age wanted anything to do with me. They all knew I could lay them flat without too much trouble and frankly I know I’m not all that much to look at. These were the things I was judged by but one day I discovered that if I flirted shamelessly, it threw men off balance because it just wasn’t what they expected from the plain little thing they just watched drop their friend on the floor. And it got to be a habit, especially when I was uncomfortable.”

She paused to look up at him when he started chuckling, a little surprised by this reaction.

“I’m sorry,” Fenris managed to stifle the laugh but not the smile. “But I can just picture this now.”

Hawke rolled her eyes and laid her head back on his shoulder, deciding she was going to ignore him. Fenris wasn’t entirely sure why the idea of Hawke flirting with _anyone_ tickled him, knew it was completely inappropriate for the situation but he just could not help it.

“It was this kneejerk reaction and sometimes these things would be out of my mouth before I even realized it. Got me out of a few situations but got me into a couple as well.”

“I’ll bet,” he teased.

“Shut up!” she scolded lightly and Fenris nodded. “Well, Anders explaining this deep dark secret of his _definitely_ qualified as uncomfortable. I’m a mage and possession is a fear we all carry. _I_ simply can’t imagine it and _I_ simply would rather die and here is this man explaining rather eloquently exactly how he came to be that way. And out it came, bold as brass and half the price. All I really wanted was to distract him, get him off on another subject but his reaction…. Well it threw _me_ off balance. He _warned_ me, told me no, that was _not_ an option.”

“And you took that as a challenge?”

“No, not entirely,” Hawke sighed. “But that along with the fact that he would go to such lengths for a friend just showed his character. I know I’ve said it before and I _know_ you don’t believe me, but he _was_ a good man with a heart as big Thedas. But he was a mage, a _Circle_ mage and those only come in a few varieties – the ones that believe in it even if it is flawed and those that believe it is flawed beyond repair and must simply go. Anders was definitely of the second variety. He was angry. Angry that he was taken from his family forever because the Circles will send apprentices to the furthest Circle they can to discourage contact with the families. In some cases they will imprison family members that refuse to heed the warnings. They strip mages of everything and expect that they accept it implicitly. If you were to do that to any normal man who had done nothing to deserve it he would resent it but mages were expected to just do as they were told, like any good trained pet.” She paused to look up at him. “If this were the Gallows we had back then? _Nothing_ could have convinced Meredith to let you see your sister. It is quite possible that Cullen could have refused you even today, he _has_ that right.”

Fenris regarded her a moment. It had not escaped him that his proximity had probably influenced Cullen’s decision to tell him about Varania. Having him where he could play his games had convinced Cullen that he could and though he also knew it was a happy coincidence, he knew he had this woman to thank for it. He nodded that he understood. He wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it, but he knew it was the truth.

“Anders told me that it was _his_ anger that was responsible for how Justice changed. I don’t know. I never really knew Justice, only Anders. I did meet him once though.” When Fenris pulled back to look at her, Hawke sighed. “It’s a long story Fenris, one that really does have nothing to do with any of this but Isabela, Varric, Anders and I had no choice but to enter the Fade to try and help a mage that was trapped there. I’d never been there before because I wasn’t a Circle mage, I had never _had_ a Harrowing so I asked Anders to come. It never occurred to me that there Justice would have rule over them but he did. Wasn’t an entirely pleasant entity and I can’t say I saw whatever it was that made Anders like him and call him a friend. But he protected Anders there and gave good advice, helped me fight my way through demons to do what we had to and get out of there.”

Hawke fell silent, lost in her own thoughts and Fenris let her, deciding that the time for prompting was over. She would either tell him or she wouldn’t and that would tell him far more than anything she could possibly say. When she started shivering, he saw that the fire had gone down and reached to pull the blankets that had come off the bed with her around them both. That seemed to break her from her reverie because she looked up at him thoughtfully a moment.

“Until that day I simply accepted what he told me, that Justice and he were so intertwined that there was no plucking them apart and I think he believed that. I don’t think he realized that integration between the two wasn’t so simple. After that I could see Justice’s influence, I could see those moments when he was more Justice than Anders for what they were and I could see that it was becoming more and more prevalent. And I was beginning to see past the injustices done to mages. Even as a mage, I admit that not every mage is like me, or even like Anders. Magic takes strength of will and character to master and control and not everyone has it. Weak mages fall prey to demons and even those strong enough to master that can still fall prey to those who wish to use their powers for their own ends. Some have the will to control it but not the character to know how to properly use it and fall prey to their _own_ desire for power. Some have far more power than they can control and that uncertainty opens them to attack. I watched this happen again and again, same as I watched good mages give in to demons in order to just survive what life or the Templars did to them. It’s a viscous circle that just keeps turning.”

She paused again and Fenris sighed. She looked at him a moment, studying him. She knew this wasn’t what he wanted, more rhetoric and explanations but she had spent so very many years questioning herself about Anders that her own feelings were as muddled as ever Anders and Justice had been.

“I said I thought I loved him,” she started hesitantly, sighing heavily as she did. “That’s not true. I _did_ love him. With everything I had to give. At first it was a bit of a game I admit, but there was just something about him that pulled at me. When he wasn’t occupied with helping someone, in his clinic or mages or refugees or whatever, he was a sad man. For all his wit and wisdom, it didn’t escape him that he was a walking example of what is most tragic in life. And he _did_ try to keep me at a distance but it just didn’t work. I guess we just needed what the other had. He was confident even if he didn’t see that in himself. Confident in his abilities and I think without Justice he would have been comfortable inside his own skin. He knew exactly what he wanted and he was not the least afraid to put himself right out there to get it, cost to himself be damned. Right was right. I was more used to the grey.”

“Grey?”

“I have lived my entire life in the grey that happens when you smack black into white. And for the most part I’ve managed to make it work because I can look into the light and see that it works _exactly_ the same way the dark does, it just has nobler means to the end is all.”

Fenris nodded, he knew something of life ‘in the grey’.

“I knew what I wanted back then but I was wild as a buck. Didn’t really have the discipline to get it and he really did take me in hand, teach me that life is like magic, you have to have strength and character to survive it with any dignity. These were things I can look back now and see that my father tried his best to teach me but I was headstrong and he died far too early. When Anders took me under his wing to teach me healing he taught me far more than how to knit muscle and bone, he taught me patience. Stubborn I already had in spades.” She sighed. “I guess what it came down to was he made me happy. Those first years I was never afraid of him and he never gave me reason to doubt him. We would happily debate the finer points of mage freedom, sometimes for days. I would argue with him when I thought he was wrong and sometimes he would win me over to his view and sometimes I would win him over but most of the time we ended up agreeing to disagree. He made me feel safe because I knew he would happily die in my defense and I frankly felt the same. He didn’t judge me, for anything really and I returned that favor. When Mother died, he was there - there when we found her, there when I sent that horrible… _thing_ to the Void, there when all I could do was feel I had failed her because now I could see how close we had been and how if I had been paying even the slightest attention to her I might have noticed things that would have set off bells. He was always there, always prepared to do whatever it was I needed, even if it was to tell me I was being _stupid_. Everywhere I look I can see his gentle influence, and I _can’t_ regret that. Even now.”

“What changed?”

“We did. We _both_ did.”

She fell silent again, swallowing at the pain that clenched her throat shut and becoming absolutely determined she would not cry again. Fenris could feel her internal struggle because she was so tense in his arms he could feel her muscles tremble. So he laid his cheek to the top of her head and waited. He knew what he was asking was not easy for her, these things were no easier for her to say than they were for him to hear but he knew she needed to do it as much for herself as for him. Hawke was beginning to think she wasn’t going to be able to go on; admitting to love wasn’t as hard as admitting to turning your back on it. Something inside her though knew the answer even as she fought with herself. The hand that had until now lay curled against Fenris’s chest flattened and it was the strong beat of his heart under her palm that gave her the focus to push all the uncertainty down and find her voice.

“I became Champion. I was suddenly involved far more in the politics of Kirkwall and I had to change the way I looked at things to survive there, to see beyond things that might seem unfair. Carver was gone, Mother died, and I had been seeing more and more of Justice’s influence in him. Where before you could argue a point, he was dogged now and refused to ever admit he could be wrong. I still loved him but he wasn’t the same man anymore, Justice had changed him and I started feeling more alone _with_ him than I did when he wasn’t around. Which was more and more often because he was so involved with the clinic and his mage causes that sometimes it would be _weeks_ before we would run across one another. And… he wanted me to use my position to further _his_ goals. Nothing he could have done angered me nearly as much as _that_. Here I was, trying to gain acceptance as a mage _outside_ the confines of the damned Circle, trying to get people to see that _some_ mages could function fine in _their_ society and by _their_ rules and he wanted me to….”

Hawke paused to mentally shake herself. “And he _lied_ to me. I _knew_ he was doing it even as it came out of his mouth because that was _never_ one of his faults before and he couldn’t do it very well. _That_ was when I sent him away because I _knew_ then I couldn’t trust him anymore. He had become something I just didn’t recognize. Justice had won and I knew it. Maybe it was insane to even believe it would end any other way but I _did_. Deep down in my heart I _always_ did and something died in me that day. Sometimes I think the Maker really does have a plan because if it hadn’t I do not know that I ever would have had the strength to kill him….”

Hawke’s voice cracked painfully and Fenris sighed, pulling her tighter to him. He didn’t need to hear this part, he decided. She’d told him once, wept openly with the lasting pain that one act out of all the others in her life had brought her, and he knew opening this wound would serve no purpose now except spite. As he held her, his cheek still lying on her head, he struggled himself. Her words had woken a tight ball of things deep in his gut, things he knew he would have to sort through but he also knew that these things were not her fault even if it had been she who’d created them.

She was trembling against him and he knew it was fear, fear that he would judge her and find her wanting, fear that he would be angry and reject her. These were the things she had come to expect from others and the truth was he wasn’t sure how he felt about it but he knew how he felt about _her_ and taking strength from that, he gently pushed her chin up, forcing her to look at him. Her face was strained, her eyes bright with tears she was refusing to shed and without giving her a chance to read the pain he knew was in his, he pressed his lips gently to hers, ignoring the whimper that escaped her as she realized he wasn’t passing verdict on her for things long past even if they did have repercussions even now. When finally he pulled away only so far as to lay his forehead to hers, he looked deep into her eyes and allowed her to see everything he was feeling in his.

“Thank you.”

She nodded wordlessly, looking so small and so unsure, so completely helpless to defend herself against anything he might choose to say or do that what came next seemed as natural as breathing. Fenris claimed her as his, slowly, gently and with a passion that left him shaking inside and out. He had done it before but this time it had far more meaning to them both because now they both knew exactly what it was he was taking. When it was done and he lay over her, trying to get back the equilibrium that touching her had so effortlessly stripped away, he buried his face in her neck and listened as her breathing slowed. He knew in his heart that she had stripped herself bare to him and that took courage, _far_ more than he had shown her. Pulling himself up onto his elbows he looked down at her, studying the drowsy expression as she looked back at him. Dropping his head, he stopped with his lips just shy of hers and looked her in the eye. “I love you, Marian Hawke,” he whispered and before she could respond, he slanted his mouth over hers. She was slow to react, perhaps surprised to hear something he had been so circumspect with until now but once she did she matched his passionate kiss, abandoning everything to this moment, to this feeling, to this _man_. When finally the want of air drove them apart she nuzzled gently at his ear and whispered, “I love _you,_ Fenris. I’m not sure I could breathe without you.”

Fenris tightened his grip on her, burying his face in her neck and just breathing in the smell of her, knowing she was doing the same. He didn’t want this moment to end but knew that at some point it had to – she needed to read the note from the Knight-Commander still laying on the desk for her. But not now. The missive had said tomorrow and Fenris knew they most likely wouldn’t be bothered until then. He had today. Running his lips gently along the bite he’d put on her while in the throws of a lust even he couldn’t explain, he knew he’d best make the most of it.


	44. Chapter 44

Sebastian stood on the rolling deck of the skiff, his body gracefully accommodating the uneasy gait. Though no longer dangerous, the Waking Sea was still unsettled and with morning the wind had shifted, now coming from the west and in Kirkwall that generally meant stormy weather. Not willing to risk another day, Sebastian had decided to cross, high seas or not, early in the morning. Carver and Aveline both had last minute details to see to and would be coming directly. Who knew exactly what Hawke’s parties had in mind; Varric had been deliberately vague.

Behind him the First Enchanter Jaroslav clung to his seat, eyes big as dinner plates as he took in the rolling sea. He had been born in Nevarra and upon entering the Circle been sent to Ansburg before the Mage revolt had literally leveled the tower. Jaroslav, not caring much for the idea of ‘freedom’ after decades spent quietly studying the effects of the Fade on areas where the Veil was at its thinnest, had followed the rumors of Kirkwall and its welcoming mages into the Gallows. He never actually made it that far though because following the Minanter River he had come upon Starkhaven first, finding Templars and Mages there working together to rebuild the Circle that had been gutted by fire. The end result though was a man who had never seen any waterway larger than a river. Indeed he had never even set eyes on even a good sized lake, and once they had cleared the channel, Jaroslav had quick decided he didn’t much care for the sight of quite this much water all in one place. The rolling surface that he could see all around him was enough; he surely didn’t want to even consider how much of it was _under_ the boat. Glancing at his Templar escort, he was amazed that he stood unfazed.

“Sir Erwin,” Jaroslav asked quietly. “How long were you assigned to the Gallows exactly?”

Glancing down at his charge, Erwin considered him carefully. The First Enchanter had a look of near panic to him and that was never a good sign when it came to mages. Perhaps distracting him with conversation would be best.

“I grew up not far from Kirkwall and when my family died in a fire I was sent here, to the Chantry orphanage,” he paused to shrug. “I was trained here.”

“Ah, I see,” Jaroslav nodded. “So you were already here when Knight-Commander Cullen took the office.”

Erwin nodded and Jaroslav fell silent, obviously thinking. Erwin looked at him a moment, silently thinking that in Knight-Commander Meredith’s day no mage in the Gallows would dare ask so personal a question. Not that Erwin minded but back then that wasn’t the point. Part of vigilance, according to her, had been keeping a distance between yourself and your charges. Do not indulge conversation. Do not allow yourself to become familiar. Do not tolerate anything but absolute _respect_. Disrespect though could be viewed a thousand different ways and discipline…. Well that could be viewed in at least as many ways as well. One of the Knights when he was a recruit had had a bit of a sadistic streak in him and Erwin had once stumbled on _his_ definition of discipline. An apprentice mage, new to the Gallows had ‘gotten saucy’ when ordered to do something and this Knight had known that the boy had a talent for healing. So his answer to his ‘disrespect’ had  been to pull a dagger and cut him, force him to heal it, then cut him again, over and over until finally the youth had begged forgiveness, his will broken. The sight of that never left Erwin, even to this day the sounds the boy had made as the Knight had held his arm stretched across a table, very deliberately cutting and the horrified looks of the other apprentices that were in the room lingered in his memory. It was no surprise to Erwin that the boy had died during Meredith’s Right of Annulment, driven to fight perhaps by the scars his less than perfect skills had left to remind him of this lesson in how things were in the Gallows.

Sighing when he realized that the First Enchanter was now completely occupied with his own thoughts, he turned his gaze back to the imposing edifice their ship was making for. For Erwin it was almost like coming home because eight years ago he had been ordered to Starkhaven and he hadn’t been back since. He had no idea why Cullen had asked for him in particular to escort the First Enchanter to Kirkwall but he did look forward to seeing old friends again.

Sebastian didn’t look away from the distant dock their ship was making for when one of the two guards he had brought with him on this lovely day-trip stepped to his side. This man, though a decade younger than the prince was one of the few people in Starkhaven that Sebastian truly considered a friend. Service to the crown was a tradition in his family and Sebastian remembered Baldovin’s father, one of _his_ father’s closest advisors and one of the men that had died in his mother’s defense. Goran’s rule had never sat well with the Malds and they had openly opposed him, throwing their not inconsiderable weight against him at every opportunity. Just one of the many rifts among the nobles that Sebastian had been forced to address upon his return.

“I have got to say your majesty,” Baldovin remarked lightly and with no small amount of humor, “You take me to the most interesting of places.”

“The Gallows is rather imposing isn’t it? Back during the Tevinter days it was a combination prison and enormous holding pen for processing slaves from around Thedas so I guess it was meant to intimidate.” Sebastian glanced at his friend a moment. “As far as the Templars are concerned it couldn’t be more perfect a Circle.”

“I can see that.”

“Maybe too perfect,” Sebastian remarked more to himself than to Baldovin. His captain looked at him oddly but Sebastian’s attention had returned to the dock that grew more distinct with every minute.

* * *

Varric hadn’t been too surprised when shortly after the prince’s departure from the Wolf of Rivain Vicenzo had popped up; actually he’d rather been expecting him from the moment Isabela had sent word that Sebastian was in Kirkwall. He just knew that Fantin would have an opinion on who was invited to this party and Varric’s instincts had not failed him. Looking around at the cave he now found himself in, he rather wished they had. Unlike his now all dearly-departed family, he hadn’t been born in Orzammar and could rather appreciate a blue sky. Knowing that there was only Maker knows how much rock and water over his head just made Varric jumpy.

It had taken the better part of the night for them to slip Hassrath and Maraas off the Wolf of Rivain without notice, but with the help of the Crows they had and now Varric and the Tal-Vashoth sat quietly hidden in the same smugglers caverns that Hawke had used to gain entrance to the Gallows. There were three men with them, none of whom Varric knew but all with the same silent craftiness about them that Vicenzo had. They reminded him more of wolves than crows and he was nervous of them. Looking at Hassrath he saw by the way the kossith was watching them where they sat across the small fire, fingering the hilt of his sword which he had laid across his thighs that he thought as little of their present circumstances as Varric did. What they were waiting for Varric had no clue, but waiting they were.

* * *

Knight-Commander Cullen watched as the skiff expertly docked, even in the rough waters - the local crews were all expert with the often eccentric currents and unruly temperament of the Waking Sea. Behind him First Enchanter Vistana stood, her robes blowing in the unsettled winds but she herself a perfect picture of complacency among the Templars around her.  When Jaroslav was the first off the boat, she moved to greet the unsettled mage. Cullen watched as they turned to the gate, only vaguely paying attention as Jaroslav immediately began asking questions about the Gallows and Vistana patiently explained her home. He did nod curtly to his escort as he followed and once he was past, turned his eye to follow Erwin thoughtfully.

“Still a firm believer in tests I see,” Sebastian remarked lightly, drawing his attention back.

Cullen regarded the prince thoughtfully a moment before replying.

“I have no better way to assess the fitness of my Templars. You know as well as I do it isn’t just about being prepared to fight.”

Sebastian nodded, looking over Cullen’s shoulder at the retreating group.

“He’s a good man Cullen. And he’s handled a very rough trip with an extremely unworldly mage with grace. And it was the same grace with which he handled Cassandra Pentaghast when the Seekers came to Starkhaven.”

Cullen sighed, accepting Sebastian’s view of Erwin. The question was not if Erwin was a good man or even a good Templar, if he had not been both he would have never been sent to Starkhaven to begin with. Looking at Sebastian a moment, he finally held out his hand.

“Welcome to the Gallows, your majesty,” he finally sighed heavily. “I wish it were under better circumstances. But it is good to see you well.”

“You as well,” Sebastian replied politely, allowing the Templar’s hand to assist his disembarking before they turned their step to the gates, Templars and Royal Guards falling into step behind them.

* * *

Fenris had never seen Hawke so still. She stood at the window of the office they had been escorted to, ignoring the chairs that surrounded the table at its center and looking down at the gardens. It was he knew, the stillness that came over any experienced fighter when they knew beyond certainty that the upcoming battle was key and that it wasn’t just their lives that hung on the outcome. Sighing, he leaned back against the windowsill next to her, his arms crossed and waited. She ignored him for a good while before finally speaking, studying instead the snow.

“I’m scared, Fenris,” she whispered. “I’m asking a lot of these men and I’m doing it purely on faith. I have only my word.”

“Your word has been good so far.”

Hawke looked at him a moment, an angry cast to her eye that disappeared almost as fast as he recognized it.

“These aren’t pirates who see profit in war and they don’t have the same connections that the Crows do. These are good men responsible for innocent lives. And,” she finally admitted, her voice sad as she turned back to the snowy view. “I’ve tested their faith in me. I don’t know how much they have left.”

Fenris nodded and studied the grain of the wood at his feet for a bit, considering that. There was no way to sugar coat that particular truth he knew and telling her to have faith seemed hypocritical coming from a man who was still struggling with the entire concept, preferring instead to see concrete proof. Finally sighing heavily he reached out and took her hand, saying nothing. She looked at him a moment, her expression sad until the door behind her opened. Fenris watched as more than a few things flashed across her face before it settled, finally, on something close to wry amusement. At what? He had no idea but she smiled at him and he nodded, ignoring the men coming through the door until one spoke to her.

“Well Hawke,” Sebastian groused good-naturedly, “Thanks to you I do believe I am stuck in Kirkwall for the winter. What have you to say for yourself?”

Turning, she echoed Fenris’s stance, regarding the man standing next to Cullen, and ignoring the rest. She studied him a moment, noting that though time had weathered his features it had done so gently and the unfamiliar lines and wrinkles only gave an already handsome face more character. Finally she pushed away from the window and striding around the table, remarked in a gently mocking tone, “I have no doubt that you could use the rest, Brother. You are still a Brother in Faith? Is that not what you called it?”

Sebastian nodded, one eyebrow twitching up when she stopped and looked him boldly up and down.

“Shame that,” she observed sardonically. “We could have made such pretty children.”

When Baldovin grunted, Sebastian held up a hand to forestall whatever his friend would have said in his defense and just looked at Hawke a moment with one eyebrow now fully arched.

“Well, it’s nice to know some things never change,” he remarked lightly, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “You still like to push.”

“Oh, but some things _do_ change,” Hawke promptly corrected him. “You serah, did not blush.”

Sebastian threw back his head and laughed outright at that a moment before nodding thoughtfully.

“Life in court will do that for you, Hawke. You are no longer the only woman who wishes to test my faith.” Looking at her a moment as she smiled warmly at him, he finally just reached out and yanked her into a hard embrace. “And you are right,” he whispered in her ear, “We would have.”

Hawke pulled back to look at him a moment but saw nothing but amusement at her surprise. Sighing, her face suddenly serious, she reached up and laid her palm to his cheek.

“Thank you for coming.”

“You had doubts?” Sebastian chuckled, “I am still in your debt.”

“No you’re not.”

Taking her hand, he pressed his lips to her knuckles and regarded her over them.

“Yes,” he finally said, all traces of amusement gone. “I _am_.”

Hawke studied him a moment thoughtfully, more surprised than she could ever express. She had thought this business over with when the root of his family’s demise had been plucked from the fertile ground the desire demon had found. She suspected there was more to it but now was not the time or the place to pursue it. So instead she nodded, simply accepting his word on the subject.

“I met your friend by the way,” Sebastian said when she showed no sign of replying to his declaration. “We had the most interesting discussion about the Qun.”

“Oh I’m sure Varric enjoyed that,” Hawke replied acerbically.

“And how did you know it was him? Could have just as easily been Isabela.”

“Who are you kidding?” Hawke snorted rudely. “You know as well as I that Isabela would have run for the hills first.”

“True,” Sebastian conceded.

“This would be the kossith woman you have on Isabela’s ship?” Cullen crossed his arms. “Yes, Aveline told me about her.”

“Oh,” Sebastian smirked, “But it gets better, Knight-Commander. They have _two_ of them.  And the male is _very_ protective of her. At first he looked like he would as soon take my head off as allow a conversation.”

“Two?” Cullen looked at Hawke. “He?”

Hawke regarded Cullen levelly a moment before shrugging but she didn’t comment. Cullen sighed unhappily, tired of this woman and her surprises and knowing there just had to be more of them coming. Before either could craft a suitable reply they were distracted by a polite cough behind Hawke.

“Oh,” she smiled without looking, turning her attention back to Sebastian. “I am so rude! Sebastian, this is Fenris. Fenris, this is Sebastian Vael, Brother in Faith to the Chantry, Prince of Starkhaven and faithful advisor to the Crown Prince of Starkhaven.” Glancing over her shoulder at Fenris she added, “And a damn good shot with a bow too.”

Fenris inclined his head politely, eyeing the other man.

“Prince of Starkhaven? _Crown_ Prince of Starkhaven?”

Sebastian chuckled, echoing Fenris’s pertinent look.

“It can be confusing I admit. The first just means that I am an heir to the throne. When my ancestors were first asked to take leadership of Starkhaven they decided that no man should be called ‘king’ because it begs corruption and Starkhaven had seen enough of that. So we call our leaders ‘Crown Prince’ instead.”

“And that is not you,” Fenris asked lightly.

“No,” Sebastian bowed his mouth around the word. “I rather prefer not having the crown actually.”

“From what I have heard,” Hawke regarded him closely, “You might as well have the fancy jewelry and title.”

 “Yes, well I cannot help that Goran so values my opinions.” Sebastian paused when he heard a none-too-subtle grunt from Baldovin behind him. Looking over his shoulder at his guard captain Sebastian shrugged. “Well, I can’t.”

“He is being far too gracious,” Baldovin announced plainly before stepping forward, “And far too modest.”

“And you,” Sebastian rebuked in a gentle tone, “Are being far too brash.” Looking around, he finally tipped his head to the man. “This is Baldovin Mald, captain of my personal guard, member of one of Starkhaven’s more influential and _outspoken_ noble houses, and luckily for him, a personal friend.”

“So you are the infamous Marian Hawke,” Baldovin bowed politely, “Viscount in absentia and Champion of Kirkwall, killer of bandits and assorted riff-raff as well as Qunari generals and mad Templar Knight-Commanders, Ferelden refugee with a noble Kirkwall bloodline and apostate mage supposedly responsible for inciting the mage rebellion. It is my pleasure and honor.”

Hawke blinked at the younger man as he again bowed, before looking at Sebastian suspiciously.

“I see you have been lauding my exploits,” she remarked before letting her tone turn sour, “Please tell me you told him the truth and not the wild tales that Varric dreamed up?” When Sebastian shrugged noncommittally she sighed. “You forgot to mention honorary Fog Warrior in that litany - might as well get all the ridiculousness right.”

“Actually,” Baldovin replied lightly, “It was I that forgot it, not Sebastian. And if even a portion of his tales is true, I salute you for an interesting life.”

“I guess,” Hawke snorted rudely, “That is one way to put it.”

“It is,” Sebastian replied and the fondness of his voice coupled as it was with the familiarity of their greeting caused Fenris to regard this prince closely. “You are going to have to tell me about Seheron you know.”

“Not much to tell,” Hawke sighed. “It’s hot and it’s green.”

“That,” Sebastian chuckled, “Is almost verbatim what Varric said!”

* * *

Hassrath stared openly at the three human men sat across from him. He knew these men to be murderers and assassins, something that Qunari accepted as occasionally necessary but still frowned upon. Dangerous men he knew but his discomfort was not for himself, it was instead for the woman sitting beside him, who looked at the world and saw one of a different color than he. Her training in the Qun had not prepared her for the darker aspects that his had offered; she had only a sharp mind and a keen awareness that those around her were driven by a visceral certainty she didn’t entirely understand but knew to be true. Beside him the dwarf sat watching the armored men across, a picture of relaxation though Hassrath knew enough of him to know that was a falsehood. He had seen the resigned look on the little man’s face when he realized where the elf Vicenzo was sending them and knew that their present situation made him uneasy for more reasons than just instinct. Although he had yet to see the mettle of this man in combat, he suspected the fancy crossbow at his back was not for decoration and though he was loath to admit it, Hassrath was glad of his presence.

These Antivan Crows completely ignored both men, silent among themselves as they were to their charges and the only sounds to be heard were the crackling of the small fire and the incessant drip of water out in the darkness. But Hassrath had patience, tested though it had recently been and he knew it was the same patience that these men had, one instilled by litany and hardened by experience. So intent was his study that it was Maraas who alerted him to a sound in the dark that did not belong when she laid a light hand on his forearm. Broken from his more martial broodings, he stood before any of the others took note. Out of the gloom appeared Vicenzo, with him a man who appeared hard worn and haggard. Hassrath cocked his horned head and regarded the newcomer with some curiosity but did not speak, leaving the questions to the dwarf because he knew his nature even if he didn’t well know the man.

“Who is the new invite to the party?”

“I am known as Julyan and that will do for now,” the man replied in the common tongue, his voice heavily accented and strong, completely belying the drawn look.

“Tevinter,” Hassrath growled, instantly recognizing the inflection of a once sworn enemy that he still held no love for and sneering in contempt.

Julyan regarded the kossith warrior a moment, intelligence as sharp and keen as a dagger shining in his eye and equally dangerous. Taking a long moment, he took the measure of Hassrath before finally replying.

“Only by birth. I am Antivan Crow and until told different, friend to Tal-Vashoth.”

Hassrath grunted and for a moment Varric thought the disdain in that single sound might create a situation but this Julyan decided to ignore the slight. This man, Varric realized, was indeed a crow – intelligent, belligerent, protective and as bastard as ever there was definition and he frankly reminded him of Fantin.  Looking from Hassrath to Vicenzo, he again repeated his question.

“I didn’t ask for an introduction, I asked who he is.”

“A friend,” Vicenzo assured him in his own accented common tongue. “Now can we proceed? We need to get to the Gallows.”

“Well, thank the Maker for some small blessings,” Varric muttered.

* * *

Hawke sat back in her chair and watched Sebastian, Fenris and Cullen, deep in a conversation of some sort. Admittedly, she had lost track when it had turned to the relative merits of various kinds of weaponry and the opinions each man had of them and she had found herself lost in her own thoughts for a time. What had brought her out of her brooding she couldn’t say offhand but now she found herself watching in silence, amazed at the easy way Fenris was conversing with these men of power. A year ago she would never have envisioned the suspicious and angry man to be capable of this ease with anyone. Indeed she would probably have laughed if you had predicted it so. She knew that even now Fenris considered himself only slightly more than the slave he had began as, determined it would seem to not understand that not everyone paid attention to bloodlines, not everyone viewed success in terms of sovereign or power and that some could see past things like birth, race and nationality to the measure of nobility and villainy that every man carried in their hearts. Perhaps, even if nothing else came from this and they were forced to leave empty-handed, this experience would prove this out and he could begin to understand that despite the past and those things he had been forced into for whatever reason, he was at the heart of it, a good man. And one much wiser for the experience.

“He is an interesting sort,” Baldovin remarked lightly as he sat next to Hawke. “Tevinter by the accent and armor.”

Hawke regarded the plainspoken noble a moment before nodding.

“The regent told Sebastian of him. Your brother, it would seem, is unsurprised by your choice in lovers. I suppose that says something about you.”

Hawke sighed, looking back at Fenris without comment.

“It very plainly says,” Baldovin continued, “That Kirkwall’s Viscountess values the man above all else. That is admirable in anyone, especially a leader.”

“I am no leader,” Hawke replied quietly, repeating something she had said many times in the past. “I am just the one that keeps standing when no one else will.”

“And is that not the very definition of a leader?” Baldovin met her gaze steadily. “And are not those who view themselves as you do the best leaders to have? Truly those are the real heroes at the heart of every tale because they concern themselves less with the trappings of leadership and more with the conscience that plagues every decision they are forced to make.” He paused to let that sink in a moment before continuing. “Your brother is like you, _very_ like you. He is a good man and a strong leader. You chose well.”

Hawke was stunned. This man _knew_. She looked at Sebastian before returning her gaze back to Baldovin and deciding to trust his judgment because obviously Carver trusted it.

“You have been listening to far too many of Varric’s tales about me.”

“I have not,” Baldovin assured her, “Had the pleasure of meeting this Varric. I base my thoughts on my trust of Sebastian’s wit and observation alone.”

Hawke honestly did not know what to say so chose silence, regarding the rugged, bearded man beside her a moment. In a world where being able to judge character in as few moments as possible could mean life or death, this man had not found her wanting and she was unable to understand it. Perhaps because Starkhaven had never felt the wrath of the mage rebellion she was credited with, perhaps because of Sebastian’s opinion of her, but whatever the reason she held no illusions. When a tranquil mage entered the room and politely whispered in Cullen’s ear Hawke knew without being told that more had arrived. Looking at Baldovin she reached out and patted his hand where it lay on the table to make sure she had his attention.

“There are likely to be Antivan Crows here for the party, so watch Sebastian well. No telling who he’s irritated pulling Goran’s strings.”

Nodding, Baldovin stood and left her to her musing. She seriously doubted that Fantin would allow any such thing to happen but she was uncomfortable with this man’s observations and wished the conversation cut short politely. When first Carver and then Aveline entered both Cullen and Sebastian stood to greet them, when Fantin entered behind him Hawke stood and Fantin ignored the rest of the assembled, making straight for her, flanked by two well armed and armored men. Hawke assumed them to be Crows since their light reinforced leather armor made them standouts in a room with heavily armored Templars, personal guards and city guards politely watching over the other players. Before she could say anything, Fantin held his hand up.

“Since you have been indisposed here in the Circle, I took the liberty of making arrangements for the arrival of the others. I figured you would want some time to explain to the big boys what exactly you know before bringing in the pudding for proof.” He paused to nod solicitously to Fenris, who had taken to his feet to stand behind Hawke and glare at the other elf. Fantin knew that his polite refusal to be intimidated was like a bur under Fenris’s armor and it was a vague but satisfying amusement for him. From what he had been able to gather, someone _not_ being intimidated was something of a novelty and as far as Fantin was concerned, a good learning experience. “Isabela and Shrawn were to be on the next skiff and Varric is with Vicenzo and those kossith of yours. Since we are trying to keep the Seekers out of this little drama I’m having them brought in the same way you arrived.”

“So they are watching Kirkwall?”

“Oh my yes, very carefully,” Fantin paused to look at the other group a moment, “And from what I can gather you are not the only prey they have in their sights.”

“I thought as much,” Hawke sighed.

“Ah!” Fantin infused happily, “So I don’t have to explain their misgivings about our beloved Knight –Commander to you, excellent!”

“Okay Hawke,” Carver sighed, pulling out a chair next to Sebastian and sitting with a very well-done look of boredom. “We are all here, everyone you requested. Can we please have an end to this mystery?”

Hawke regarded him thoughtfully as Fantin leaned in to whisper in her ear. When she pulled away, a surprised look coloring her face at what the Crow master had told her, Carver blinked and then leaned back, his hands folded politely in his lap. Hawke watched as they all took seats, including Master Fantin, leaving her and the guards to which Fenris apparently counted himself because he took up a position behind her, as the only ones still standing. Taking a deep breath, she decided the best place to start would be the most obvious – the beginning.

“This all started when a group of us were taking advantage of a break in the rains to have a picnic….”

* * *

When Hassrath fell behind Maraas, Varric had automatically taken her side, walking between two of the unknown Crows at the front and Vicenzo and Julyan and the last unknown taking the rear. Torches only vaguely helped hold the dark at bay and did nothing to hide the shine of water that continually seeped down the rock walls. Varric eyed the unwelcome reminder of exactly where they were but said nothing. In silence they covered the last mile or so of cavern before arriving at the same door that Hawke had thought to pick. They wouldn’t have need because Fantin had informed his Templar escorts of the late arrivals and their chosen route and they had been ordered to the dark and dank sub-basement of the Gallows to await their arrival. They stood at the top of the stairs, their own torches in hand and polished steel armor catching the light, watching in stoic silence as the group climbed. If they were surprised to see Tal-Vashoth among the group they gave no indication, but they eyed Hassrath and the ornate longsword strapped to his back critically before ushering them into the bowels of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi and yet more stone steps.

When they arrived at the top of the stairs and found themselves in a storage area, what little of Orzammar that existed in Varric through stories passed through his family came to the forefront and he found himself surreptitiously studying the darkened room as they passed through by the light of the torches. Lyrium both raw and refined required the most careful of handling. The physical and mental consequences of not respecting this most potent of ores were at the least devastating and here Varric saw crates of the type usually reserved for the transport of the deadly stuff – stacks of them, some as tall as Hassrath, some with the seal of Orzammar and some without. And judging by the echoes of their footsteps this room was massive. That Templars would have lyrium on hand was no surprise to him, their addiction to it would require its presence even if their use of it in the Harrowing rituals and the Tranquil mages’ profitable use of it to enchant items that common men could use did not. But this? If what he suspected was true then this was the labor of lifetimes in Orzammar and somehow Cullen had hoarded it in the very place its presence would least be expected.

‘Unless,’ he mused, ‘you’re a Seeker, trained to ferret out the dirty secrets of Chantry and Templar alike.’

Suddenly their presence in Kirkwall made sense. Varric hadn’t really understood why after a decade they would suddenly begin concerning themselves with Hawke. Isabela had, when he had voiced this aloud ventured that it had taken that long for them to gain control of their ranks, but Varric knew that Seekers were no Templars, even if they were another military fist of the Chantry they were not in the same vein. Where Templars were the Chantry’s army, set to defend life and liberty of common souls against the scourge they viewed magic as, the Seekers were a special branch, one set to not only watch the Templars but also the Chantry as a whole. Their job was to find insurrection within the ranks and snuff it out, brutally if necessary. They were the truest definition of warrior priests that existed in Thedas and within their ranks there would be no loss of control to regain. Seekers would happily martyr themselves for the Maker’s glory. As the group made their way from the dark of the storage and into an only slightly better lit hallway, Varric mused that, if he was correct then Cullen and in all likelihood Carver as well, were playing dangerous games with dangerous people and the price for losing would be dear.

When they came to yet another set of steep stone stairs, Maraas politely begged a rest. She herself was not so fatigued that she couldn’t continue but she could see that the Tevinter Julyan was stoically suffering from the pace. The weariness that lined his face and drooped his shoulders when he thought no one looking spoke of a hard journey at a breakneck pace and though she had no feelings for him she understood that he had some part to play in their conspiracy. When the Templars conceded to her request, one that every man there knew was a ruse for Julyan’s benefit though all were too polite to say it Julyan inclined his head gracefully and gratefully. Maraas simply looked down her nose at the shorter man a moment before nodding shortly. She didn’t have to like him or his presence, but courtesy was something the Qun had instilled in her and managing people was one of the skills she had been taught. Hassrath grunted and turned to look down at the Templars, and not recognizing the symbol on their armor, quietly asked Varric just where it was they were.

“The Circle of Magi,” Varric replied in as light a tone as he could muster. He had not told either of them their destination, remembering the confrontation on Isabela’s ship when they had discovered Hawke’s apostate status. Hassrath stiffened but said nothing, instead looking at the Templars more closely. Maraas had caught the quiet exchange, as had the Templars and they both returned his stare as Maraas laid a gentle hand on Hassrath’s arm. “Arvaarad,” was all she said and Hassrath nodded without looking away. If they were uncomfortable with his scrutiny they gave no indication, simply noting the much larger but unarmored man’s discomfiture because neither man had been in Kirkwall for the Arishok’s scourge. Qunari to them were little more than part of a dusty history lesson, and they understood the concept of Tal-Vashoth not at all.

* * *

The assembled listened in a polite silence with only the occasional expression of what they were thinking betrayed by their face. Hawke knew this, understood it and did not let it deter her or make her nervous. Each of these people was responsible for lives and livelihoods and experience had taught them to not only refrain from snap judgments but to keep their thoughts to themselves as much as possible. She didn’t even pause when Shrawn and Isabela eventually arrived, simply nodding their direction to acknowledge them as they silently found seats. Finally, after telling the tale as far as their ill-advised romp through Qunari waters she let her voice fall silent, watching as each took in the implications.

“What you are saying is,” Aveline finally spoke up, “That the Qunari are going to try and finish taking Seheron?”

“No,” Carver answered her for Hawke. “She’s saying that the Qunari have decided that Seheron is no longer necessary.”

“What?” Aveline looked from Carver to Hawke. “You’re saying they mean to attack Tevinter outright?”

“Without a steady supply of reinforcements and supplies from Tevinter,” Hawke agreed with them both, “Seheron will fall entirely and in short order as well. And the Qun will get a foothold on Thedas. _We_ have already seen what the Qunari can do with even a toe in the water. A small contingent of them very nearly took this city without benefit of _any_ help from Par Vollen.”

Carver sat forward, pressing a finger to the top of the table.

“But they didn’t, did they?”

“No, but consider that night Carver,” Hawke replied lightly. “Consider it long and well. And now imagine a field of Qunari arrayed against you. Even as a Templar you can’t tell me that doesn’t make your bowels quake. We’ve _seen_ that. We’ve _seen_ a field of battle between the Qunari and the Tevinters. Its ugly and its bloody and that is coming to Thedas as we speak. Tevinter has held on to their parts of Seheron with tenacity, sheer will and intent because the Qun has weapons you can’t even imagine. But if the Qun sails on Minrathous, and they surely intend to, there will be no tenacity strong enough. Minrathous might not fall today, or even tomorrow. They have a history of being able to hold their capital no matter the siege engine fielded against it, but the rest _will_ fall.”

“You,” Cullen finally filled the silence that followed her words, “Are here to ask us to aid Tevinter. What madness is that? I thought you wise to the hazards of magic?”

“I am Cullen.”

“Then why are you here as an emissary of the Tevinter Empire? Begging assistance from city-states and principalities of the Free Marches for their defense?”

“I am not here as an emissary for anyone,” Hawke snapped shortly. “I am here to warn you all that if you do nothing now, if you allow Tevinter to fall, then you _will_ be next. Maybe not in our lifetimes but surely in those of our children. The Qun knows no sleep, it only hungers for more.”

“No one in Tevinter knows of Hawke or her endeavors on their behalf,” Fantin spoke finally. “She’s here because she’s right.”

“And just how would you know this Crow?” Cullen sneered.

Fantin stood, pulling a sizeable purse from his shoulder and slinging it down the table to stop before Carver.

“Read and decide for yourself,” was all he said.

Hawke turned a suspicious look on Fantin who simply smiled complacently as he sat back down. When she leaned down to whisper in his ear, he simply blinked.

“What have you done?”

“Whatever needs done,” he replied simply, “Which is nothing less than what I was order to do by my grandmaster.” Tipping his head he looked at her sardonically. “Have faith, I am at your back with my blade sheathed to all who mean you no harm and so long as I am you have the protection of the Antivan Crows, Hawke.” Glancing over his shoulder at Fenris, whom he knew was listening attentively he remarked, “Even if you don’t understand what that has thus far entailed, be glad of it.”

Hawke turned to watch as Carver began pulling out page after page of parchment and wondered just what that was supposed to mean. When Carver suddenly looked up, eyes ticking from Hawke to Fantin and back, Hawke met his gaze steadily even if she had no idea why he looked so sharp. When he slowly held up a folded missive and spoke, his words were wickedly precise.

“This is has the seal of the office of the Archon of Tevinter on it.” He dropped it, only to pick up another. “As does this one, and this one. Oh, and this one had the _personal_ seal of the Archon.” Standing he planted his hands on the table to either side of the little pile he had created and leaned over them, staring at Hawke with a hard look. “Just how in the name of all that might be considered holy did you get these? If you are not here at the Archon’s request, how did you come by what I will assume are sensitive documents?”

“Rather simply actually,” Fantin replied for her, shifting the attention of everyone to him. “We have had spies in the Tevinter government for a great while. Truthfully we have them in most royal courts as well. There is little that goes without notice to the Crows, even when most would prefer it.” What he didn’t mention was that their spies were not well placed in Tevinter and until Hawke had literally fallen in his lap, they had been aware that something was brewing but had had no clue where to start looking for the source. “Our contact risked a great deal to get those for you and frankly will now be viewed as traitor in his own homeland so do not let their origin deter you.”

Carver turned his head and looked at Cullen over his shoulder. Cullen sniffed thoughtfully but before he could say anything Hawke interrupted.

“Just so we are clear about something here, I killed a Tevinter Senator and quite literally stole valuable property that his one heir is bound to be less than pleased about.” She paused to hold a hand out to indicate Fenris and unperturbed to be referred to thus he simply returned looks he received with a flat one of his own. “I am the last person they are going to ask to advocate on their behalf. Frankly, if I set foot on Tevinter soil I’m going to the Gallows, probably without trial.” She sighed, crossing her arms. “I am as appalled by them as you are Cullen, I was _long_ before I spent a year in Minrathous and am more so now. Blood magic is everywhere and possession is considered the price you pay for doing business. Their Templars are little better than well-trained guards called in to mop up the messes. Their Chantry is little more than a shadow of what it once was, one that not only accepts mages but openly backs them, and openly supports slavery as well since it is one of their main sources of revenue. And it grieves me that we can’t leave them to their own fate, but the fact is we _can’t_. Evil as their government and institutions have become? There are literally _thousands_ of simple people, same as there are here who have no truck in magic and just want to live their lives peacefully. _Those_ are the people who will suffer under the Qun because make no mistake, and we all here know this to be true, they will slaughter every mage they find. It will be those _innocent_ people who will live to suffer the consequences of _our_ inaction.” She echoed Carver’s stance, leaning over the table and looking each one of them in turn. “All four of you are sworn – _sworn_ mind you to protect innocent lives. Does it _truly_ matter what accent they have?”

“You ask a lot Hawke,” Sebastian remarked.

“I know I do, but I’m not asking just for those blameless people laboring under the rule of mages. Because it will _not_ stop there. Not ultimately it won’t. One of the central tenants of the Qun is not all that dissimilar from that of the Chantry – _to_ _bring_ _enlightenment_ _to_ _the_ _four_ _corners_ _of_ _the_ _world_. They don’t believe in deities but converting any non-believer is as close as they get to holy. It is their _mission_ , it is their reason for existing ultimately and they will not stop at Tevinter’s borders but temporarily. _Then_ the voices won’t have a _Tevinter_ accent, they will have that of Nevarra, Anderfels, Antiva and Maker help us all eventually they are going to sound just like _us_! And right now we have the chance to prevent that, to see the wider perspective and show Par Vollen that we here in Thedas may not get along, we may not always see things eye to eye, but one thing we will _not_ tolerate is someone coming into _our_ house and telling us how to _live_!” Slamming her hands down on the table, something inside her happy when the entire table jumped and the sound rang off the walls, she grated out, “My life is my own, dammit, and _no_ _one_ will tell me how to live it, not them, not _anyone_!”

“Well, yes,” Aveline filled the silence that fell behind Hawke’s heartfelt words with a rather dry tone of her own, “We have rather gotten that impression from you in the past trust me. There is no need to shout it.”

Hawke glared at her friend, hands still planted firmly on the top of the table and stinging resoundingly from the force of her blow, biting her tongue in an attempt to not say something rude. The atmosphere, already thick got thicker until a poorly stifled laugh got all their attentions. Isabela, who for once in her life had been sitting quietly at the opposite end of the table, had a hand slapped over her mouth. She had just decided she had control of it when she realized that just everyone in the room, right down to the assorted guards lining the walls was staring at her like she had the pox and it got the better of her again. Waving her hand to fan herself and clamping her lips tight she made a sight and before long everyone was looking at her and trying to keep a straight face. Finally it was Hawke that decided it wasn’t worth the effort and just started laughing at her and before long they all were and the tense miasma was banished.

“Oh, Iron-Drawers,” Isabela finally gasped, “You have such a way of cutting through all the bullshit!”

* * *

Two more flights of steps later Varric, who had spent a lifetime in a world sized more for humans than dwarves and had learned to accommodate such things was starting to wonder what Hassrath would say if he asked for a piggyback ride but was spared the indignity when the Templars at their lead turned instead down a hall. Passing several offices and their often mage attendants, Varric knew this tour had to be nearing an end and looked up to find Maraas looking at him. Her look was inscrutable but Varric had come to realize that was both kossiths’ normal reactions to being uncomfortable. Smiling reassuringly, not sure who it was he was trying to make feel better about the situation, he wasn’t surprised when she just sighed and went back to staring at the back of the Templar’s head.

When they turned down another hallway, this one guarded by what seemed an excess of Templars and that those traversing the hallways on business of their own gave a wide berth, Varric wasn’t entirely surprised to see Donnic standing among them but just inclined his head to him politely as the Templar quickly explained that they would be allowed two of their guards if they so chose. Vicenzo simply pointed at the wall across from the door and the men who had kept watch on them in the caverns stepped away. Nodding, the Templar reached for the door to usher them into what Varric could only think of as the breach but when the door swung open he was rocked back on his heels when what floated through it wasn’t the raised voices or stoic silences he had expected but instead laughter.

Hawke saw them enter and sobered immediately, as did Cullen as he studied the group as they came through the door with a guarded look. Cullen was not a man who liked surprises, in his life surprises _rarely_ amounted to anything but trouble and so far Hawke had been nothing but surprises. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she straightened and studied the group a moment before turning back to those sitting at the opposite end of the table.

“Now that everyone is here,” she sighed, looking down at Fantin where he sat next to her a moment, “I have brought with me the two Tal-Vashoth from my story to help explain the seriousness of what I am telling you, an emissary from the Felicisima Armada,” she paused to indicate Shrawn who had sat silent through the entire conversation, “And an emissary from the Crows. _All_ of whom can see the writing on the wall. Oh yes and,” she turned and held a hand out to Fenris who promptly produced a folded parchment from one of the pouches along his belt and which Hawke sent spinning down the table to rest next to the pile of Tevinter documents Carver had constructed. Pointing at it as it came to a rest she continued, “So does the Queen of Antiva who has pledged her privateer fleet to our cause and promises more if circumstances warrant it.” Pausing to take in the surprised looks on their faces she just smiled. “What? You thought I would come rattling sabers completely empty-handed?”

* * *

**_I want to apologize for how long this chapter took but literally my job has blown up in my face. Since you’re already comfortable, I’m going to tell you the story of my December 2011._ **

**_I literally  only had 3 days off the entire month with a vast majority of those days I worked being between 9 - 13 hour days, worked an 11 hour shift on Christmas and had to deal with a woman at work I like to call Queen Passiveaggressiva who in the last month has decided she doesn’t like me. She bases this on things told to her by other people who have a vested interest in seeing me quit and the same people responsible for the insane hours I have been forced to work. That they are managers makes fighting back a little more complicated to say the least. Queen Passiveaggressiva has taken to acting like a little piranha, taking little bites and trying her best to start fights hoping I will lose my cool and she can get me in trouble. I have watched her do it with other people and think she’s funny so it hasn’t worked but it is just one more stress. I literally  never know what day she’s going to ignore me and refuse to even answer civil questions that concern the job or turn around and start snarling and foaming. Even when she’s not talking she makes a point of taking every opportunity to look at me like I am some slime mold that crawled under the door._ **

**_Then one day I open my email and see that I have yet another snarky review from a particular person who seems to enjoy trolling ffnet for stories where Hawke sides with the Templars and leaving some nasty little comment. I know for a fact I am not the only one this person has flamed, and I am not going to give them the satisfaction of even mentioning their name here. If you’re curious? Go read my reviews (this btw is on ffnet, not here). I said something to Omnomanon on twitter and was a little heated. On top of everything else in my life this one just hit me raw at the wrong time. When I snarked that I was a crow and crows were “harbingers of death in more than a few societies,” Omnomanon pointed something out to me. She said, “Also the most bastard bird of them all... and you're going get irritated by a mere straw man?” And I realized something that day._ **

**_I took the moniker AmericanCorvus for a reason. A very dear and now dearly departed friend of mine was a Native American and she used to joke that my totem just had to be the crow. Why? Because crows test their chosen people often and hard. For years it was a private joke between us and she sent me a necklace for what turned out to be her last Christmas, one that I still years later have never taken off for more than an hour or so at a time. It is, of course, of a crow. And looking back over some forty odd years of life I have come to realize she is right, my totem is the crow and this is just another test. And Omnomanon is also right, they are straw men. All of them. From Queen Passiveaggressiva to the managers trying to get me to quit by making me work 11 hours on Christmas when everyone else worked little 3 – 5 hour shifts, to the hateful, crappy little individual who hasn’t even taken the time to read my story and has the private message settings on ffnet set to off so no one can question his/her bullshit to his/her face._ **

**_Once I realized that? I started to realize that it doesn’t matter. Sure I put in 122.5 hours in two weeks and had to work 16 days straight without a day off but I survived and I got a check for slightly less than $1000 for my trouble.  And as for Queen Passiveaggressiva? She finally made a mistake and gave me the opportunity to smite her with her own sword and get the managers that refused to do anything with her in trouble as well. And the opinion of some small minded bigot who takes video games way too serious is not worthy of my consideration because he/she is surly a sad, wretched excuse for a person that ranks with Queen Passiveaggressiva – so miserable in their own skin that they have to tear down other people in order to feel human. After coming to those decisions suddenly I could find the time and the energy to write, even if it did sometimes cut into what little sleep I was getting and even if this chapter had the annoying habit of mocking me. _ **

**_And there you are, my December 2011 and the most unlikely of heroes - Omnomanon. She’s probably going to read this at tell me I’m insane and maybe I am, but it doesn’t change the facts - she’s good people and I’m blessed to have met her. If you aren’t following her story Nemesis, you should be so go look her up._ **

**_Panahedan,_ **

**_~Robin~_ **


	45. Chapter 45

Fenris stood leaning against the desk in their rooms watching Hawke out of the corner of his eye, tired beyond measure by the pointed questions and occasionally raised voices that had marked a very long day. He hadn’t even participated, only volunteering information when asked but the constant tension that was palpable in the room had brought old habits to the forefront and he’d found himself hyper vigilant. Through the day and well into the night it had gone on and he’d watched while every participant slowly wilted under the questions and arguments until finally it had been Sebastian who called a halt. Cullen, having the lateness of the hour pointed out called for his assistant and had her arrange rooms for their guests, saying there was no reason for them to make the crossing in the dead of the night when the hospitality of the Templars was directly at hand. And with the meeting broken up, the Templars politely escorted everyone away. Several hours later Hawke still had not settled, at first pacing while staring at the floor before her, completely unaware of his presence as she mumbled and muttered under her breath, but now she had ceased even that. Instead something inside her had heeded the physical fatigue and she stood staring into the fire, one that she’d fed against the chill in the room and seemed to hold her in some spell. If only it were that easy, he mused.

While she had paced, lost in a world of her own building, Fenris had stripped out of his armor and sat watching her; this time he knew better than to interrupt her because she needed this outlet, at least for now. Instead, he contemplated what he had seen and heard this long day. Again he had seen this woman who was a bit of a stranger to him, the one that threw on a cloak of authority and wore it with comfort, who could stand and argue with impunity in rooms filled with both nobility and villainy with a situational level of control that he found amazing. It showed her adaptability and was a telling reveal of her checkered past and hard won ascent through the ranks. It was also a clear indication that whatever training her mother had tried so hard to instill in her tomboy daughter had indeed taken root somewhere. Danarius had been fond of pointing out, usually contemptuously, that breeding always tells. From his point of view Hawke, noble blood or no, would fall short because she refused to bow to the expectations of her gender, but there was no denying that she knew how to work a room.

Sighing, deciding that now was as good a time as any, he straightened from his perch and went to her. Standing behind her he gently laid his hands on her shoulders, not in the least surprised when they jerked as the light touch startled her out of her reverie. She didn’t otherwise move, didn’t say anything and neither did he, instead he stood feeling the tension sing inside her for a few moments before sliding his hands down her arms until his hands covered hers. When she spread her fingers he interlaced his with hers and used that leverage to pull her arms around her so that she was wrapped in both her own embrace as well as his, her back pressed against him. They stood like that for a while, silence dominating the room but one that was comfortable as well as comforting.

“You need to sleep,” he finally whispered into her ear.

“I can’t.”

“You can,” he insisted gently, “And you have to. You will be of no use if you do not.”

Hawke sighed, letting her head fall back on his shoulder.  “I can’t stop my mind turning.”

“Then think of something else.”

He could feel her looking at him as he regarded the fire over her and knew she was thinking.

“Tell me something about Minrathous,” she asked quietly. “You were there a long time, not everything in all that time could be bad.”

Fenris considered that for a long moment and allowed that she was right – no evil could completely extinguish joy.  There had been fleeting moments, even if for the most part it had not been bliss but a happiness he spent most of his adult life envying as he witnessed it in others. He knew what she was asking of him, knew that she needed in her heart to hear that she was right, that there were those even inside the walls of Minrathous itself that deserved the righteous anger she was attempting to bring down in their defense. Her own time inside the city had been spent witness to its vices and arrogance and she had seen little or nothing of any kindness. Sighing, he nodded and, deciding that if he was going to plumb his memory for her then he was at least going to insist on the venue.   He released her and pushed her towards the bedroom. She didn’t protest, instead went of her own will and left him poke the fire and put the screen before it.

Once he had seen to that and dimmed the oil lanterns in the room, he was paused in the doorway separating the sleeping and living chambers of their borrowed apartments, finding himself leaning to the doorframe to watch. She hadn’t gotten far he saw, diverted by the long reinforced leather jerkin that was part of his armor and which he had simply tossed across the bed and forgotten in his own weariness. She had pulled it from the bed, perhaps thinking to lay it across the rest of his armor that was neatly stacked across a credenza that sat beneath the window but instead she now stood staring down at it thoughtfully, completely unaware of his presence. Finally she held it up as though to inspect the leather for flaws that Fenris knew were not there. He almost said something then but before he could think what, she pulled it down to her and burying her nose in it, breathed deep.

He knew what she would smell because he knew all his equipment like the back of his own hand, lyrium and all. It smelled of old leather well taken care of, of the oils he used to keep the leather supple and his steel from rusting. And he knew it smelled of him, of the years of sweat that permeated the hide and no form of cleaning could ever remove. Suddenly this woman who could wear authority like she had been born to it didn’t look so large, standing there taking in the familiar scent of the man she had sworn her heart to. Instead she looked tiny to him, fragile. He knew it wasn’t entirely true because she had reserves of strength and mental fortitude that impressed him, but there was still something in her that was delicate, easily broken and not easily repaired. Seeing her this way woke something protective in him, something fierce and possessive and he wondered at her ability to do this without even trying.

When she finally folded it neatly and laid it with the rest of his armor, she turned, catching sight of him finally and paused to regard him. He had no idea what she could see, he was far too tired and indeed far too charmed by what he had just witnessed to bother with schooling his features but whatever it was she suddenly looked away, inspecting her hands like she had never seen them before and a deep blush spreading across her cheeks. Straightening, he was suddenly reminded of Seheron, of the charming blushes that had taught him this woman was not near as hard-bitten as she at first could appear, nor as worldly either. That had given him a glimpse at a softness that was now his and his alone, won by some means he still did not understand but won all the same.

Suddenly he wanted her to understand, to _know_ that she held his affections in the same way but words escaped him, he had no experience with it. So instead he went to her, sliding both hands up her neck and into her hair, his thumbs catching her chin and forcing her to look at him. Smiling warmly at her as he studied the high color of her face, he decided actions would speak far louder than words. He kissed her not with passion but with gentle affection and an ardent desire that she see her actions not as something to be embarrassed about, but instead as something so endearing to him it made his heart ache. She seemed to understand because when he finally pulled away she gazed at back at him with no hint of shame even though her cheeks were still painted scarlet. Sighing, he pulled away, pointing at the bed and turning to bank the lanterns and strip out of his own clothes before crawling in next to her.

Hawke stretched herself along his side, head on his shoulder and one leg slipped between his. Wrapping an arm around her he considered her earlier request in silence for some time, and she waited patiently. In the end he knew there was only one story to tell really, all the others were small acts of kindness he had witnessed – things he had committed to memory to remind himself that his own circumstance was not average and that there were people who lived boldly, seemingly without fear. People, he mused, like Hawke. Though he was coming to learn that even those people, the ones he had envied their openness and easy camaraderie among strangers had pains and fears of their own that they guarded.

“Danarius had an estate in Seheron, one he kept so that he could go to Seheron to fight. It was, he would say, his civic duty to go to the front, to fight with the common soldiery. In reality it was a chance for him to increase his prestige because there were more than a few senators that had never laid eyes on Seheron’s shores, much less fought. Danarius was a great many things, bold was among them. He thought nothing of being in the fray, especially with me there to guard his back and it earned him a great deal of respect among the magisters that lived on Seheron, and even more respect from the men and women, magister or no who were fighting to keep the Qun in check there. He once told me that having the love of the common man was greatly overrated, that what one needed to rule was to have the love and respect of the military, from general to simple waterboy.”

“Danarius didn’t think he could overthrow the Archon did he?” Hawke asked, looking up at Fenris curiously.

“I do not know, honestly. He rarely confided in me and those are the types of sentiments you do not confide _at_ _all_ and expect to live long. It wouldn’t surprise me though; he was a man with voracious appetites, especially for power. Even so he, for all his cruelty and ambition he had a great trough of wisdom that he would sometimes share. A great many of the things he said to me in this vein I have seen proven true.”

Hawke nodded and laid her head back on his shoulder.

“During one of our visits word came to him from Minrathous that a great many of his slaves had fallen ill and about half of those had died. Most magisters would have just ordered their chatelaine to replace the loss, but Danarius was exacting in everything. Instead he set about finding suitable replacements himself, there on Seheron to be sent back.

“Following behind Danarius as I did… I have been to the slave markets in Minrathous more than a few times but the one in Seheron was an entirely different creature. In Minrathous a great many of the slaves had been born to it, knew nothing else. Or they had sold themselves voluntarily into it for whatever reason. Things there were orderly and deals were done quickly and quietly. In Seheron there were a fair number of people forced to it, by debts, by circumstance. Whole families were there, sold to any number of masters and split apart, perhaps forever. And there were fewer sellers so they were more willing to haggle and barter for the best prices they could get from their limited ‘stock.’ It was loud and it reeked of fear and greed, and I can remember looking around and wondering if this wasn’t something from my past, something I couldn’t remember experiencing.

“There among all this chaos was one slave that stood out. You could tell by her short stature and dark skin that she was fog warrior. This was before I spent any time among them so I know now that the quietly proud demeanor, even in those circumstances was a clear indication of her heritage. At the time though I envied her that poise because these surroundings had rattled me to the core and I wasn’t the one on the block. It was I suspect that same poise that caught Danarius’s attention, along with the fact that there were very few fog warriors that would allow themselves taken alive, fewer still that wouldn’t kill themselves before suffering the indignity of slavery.”

“They are a proud people,” Hawke murmured. “I have great respect for that.”

“As do I, now. Then I didn’t understand it. Danarius haggled long and hard for this one, settled on a price far more than he would ordinarily pay. Even now I do not know if it was the novelty of her that drove him, or if it was an admiration for that dignity she showed. Danarius was a complicated man, hard and suspicious but occasionally capable of kindness and that kind of respect. And he would have considered it respect that he paid that kind of coin for a slave, one that he had no idea how she would turn out but in his mind buying her was a kindness because now she would have a home.”

Hawke snorted but Fenris knew she didn’t understand. In her world home had a different meaning than it did for a slave, even him and even to this day.

“I will never forget how she looked at me. You have to understand that the slaves in Danarius’s households were all afraid of me, and for good reason. Danarius was not above showing off what I could do by picking random slaves for me to kill though over the years that thankfully happened less and less. And whenever he didn’t feel like punishing a slave himself he would often order me to see to it so he could watch. I think he considered that an act of loyalty on my part, whipping a slave. And I would do it,” he paused when she looked up at him, expression horrified and held up a hand to stop her from saying anything. “I would do it because I knew if I didn’t not only would I suffer for my rebellion, so would they because then it wouldn’t be an angry Danarius whipping us both, it would be a _furious_ one. I have watched Danarius all but strip the flesh to the bone when he was in a fury.  If it was in my power to spare someone that, why shouldn’t I?”

Hawke just looked at him a long time, eyes sad before nodding. She had seen the fine scars, felt them every time she ran her hands along his back and had always suspected where they had come from but to hear it so blithely stated…. She wondered if the other slaves had understood this subtle distinction and suspected that they hadn’t. Not really.

“But because of these things they feared me, none would even look me in the eye but I would see them watching me the same way song birds will watch a hawk in the sky, afraid it will swoop in and take you if you look away. Sometimes I think Danarius did these things not just to show me off or prove his domination, but to deliberately keep me isolated from everyone but him and to make a point among the slaves. ‘You fear him but he fears me.’ And he was right, I did fear him. I still do.”

 Fenris stopped, realizing he had strayed from his intended tale and sighed.

“ _She_ didn’t look at me with fear, while Danarius bargained for her purchase she completely ignored the process, openly staring at _me_. After years of having slaves look away, of having even strangers avoid looking except surreptitiously I had no idea what to think of this open and frank curiosity. I admit it rankled, disturbing me in a way I couldn’t put a finger to and that made me angry. I tried glaring at her but she just met my eye completely unperturbed and _smiled_ at me. I just had no frame of reference for dealing with this so I chose to ignore her but she just _kept_ studying me. I could see her from the corner of my eye. I don’t think I was ever so glad to be gone from anyplace as I was that day. The entire experience was one that I must say I am glad was never repeated.

“All the slaves, including her, were taken straight from the market and put on a ship for Minrathous and it was months before I saw her again. By that time she had settled in and the chatelaine had found a niche for her – she was one of the many maids responsible for the day to day cleaning throughout the estate. In all that time she had never uttered a word, never spoken to anyone it would seem and the chatelaine was convinced she was physically incapable. But so long as she understood what was expected of her and preformed accordingly, no one really cared if she spoke. Danarius had forgotten her and I’m not sure that he ever even noticed her after that first day. I however couldn’t _help_ but notice her because even after all that time she still hadn’t lost that bold curiosity. I would be walking down a hall on some errand for Danarius and there she would be openly watching me. And I could see that the other slaves were appalled by it, would try pulling her away or diverting her attention but it never seemed to work but momentarily. I overheard one tell her once that staring at me in such a way was the same as staring at Danarius because I was _his_ creature. I can’t explain how that angered me but even then I knew it hurt because it was true.

“This went on for over a year, her watching me and my ignoring her. I would over hear the slaves talking about her and knew that she still hadn’t spoke. Some thought her simple but I knew there was nothing simple about her. I could see the intelligence in her eye as sure as I could see the grace in her step. Because she refused to speak one of the old elven slaves had taken her under her wing and given her a name to be known – Era. I suspect this old woman could see in her the same things I saw because ‘era’ is Elvish for ‘story’.

“One day I came out of Danarius’s rooms and ran her down. Someone had sent her to change his sheets, and since neither of us expected anyone…. I can’t even remember why I was there now when ordinarily I would have been with him but she looked so upset about those sheets that I ended up trying to help her. While I was trying to refold these silk sheets and having no real luck with it, she reached out and touched my arm. It was innocent enough, simple curiosity but I reacted badly and scared her enough that she cringed away from me like she expected me to hit her. Well that just made _me_ feel bad but I had no idea what to say so I decided that leaving was probably the best option. As I turned away and she realized she wasn’t going to be punished she looked at me, pointed at the lyrium and said plain as day, ‘they hurt.’ She had studied me close enough to know that the tattoos still pained me and I wasn’t sure which to be more surprised by – that fact or the fact she had spoken _at_ _all_ so all I did was nod and go.”

Fenris paused, sighing heavily because he knew this was the part of this story that would be the most difficult to recount, not because of Era but for him personally. This is where their tales became tangled.

“This is when word was sent to the Senate that the Qunari had launched a campaign that the forces in Seheron were hard pressed to hold. They were begging for more troupes and the Senate did what it always did – it debated. Danarius would rage that while they sat discussing the issue the Qun would take Seheron away from them and the entire discussion would become moot but sometimes Tevinter is slow to react, even to impending disaster. Danarius became disgusted with them, especially when he saw dispatches that showed that his own estates were in danger of being lost. So he used his own money to secure transport for a great portion of his own personal guards and the guards of a great many other magisters who were of the same mind as he. In the end we sailed to Seheron with several hundred men and women, all fighting fit and prepared to do whatever it took even if they weren’t regular army.

“When we arrived it was a disaster. The Qun had already taken most of the city including Danarius’s estates. Even though Danarius had understood that keeping property so close to the front posed a real risk, he raged about the loss because he knew that had the Senate acted promptly this entire dilemma would not exist. With the fresh troupes we had brought he and the generals set about a systematic campaign to expel the Qunari from the city, section by section. It was bloody and expensive in lives and wounded but in the end we drove them out. It was a hollow victory though because the Qunari had only given ground once they had razed and looted everything they could. They pitched their dead into wells, leaving them to rot and poison the water. They burned anything that would catch so even the stone and earthen work buildings were useless and sometimes collapsed without their wooden infrastructures. Danarius’s own properties were completely destroyed, very nearly to the ground.

“It had taken months to finally drive them back and I think it would have ended in a stalemate if several ships hadn’t arrived from Tevinter at the end. The Senate it would seem had finally made a decision and it was decided that the fight would _not_ stop at the borders of the city, that we would push these creatures of Koslun as far to the north as could possibly be accomplished while we had them in retreat. And the ploy worked. We retook land that hadn’t seen a magister in decades before finally the Qunari stood and refused to be pushed any further. It was in a small fishing hamlet that the final battle took place, both sides determined to be the one whose flag flew at the end of the day. Off the coast ships fought, you could see the flares of cannons and the light of fires cast by mages on the horizon in the night but by morning the writing was on the wall.

The navy had managed to drive off the Qunari ships but we had not fared so well. Most of our troupes were dead or injured beyond help; even Danarius had taken a serious wound. I was ordered to get him out, to take him to the docks and put him on one of the skiffs that were taking the wounded because soon there would be no getting out alive. Danarius argued, refused to be ‘sent home like a child with skinned knees.’ Finally one of the few remaining officers enlisted my aid in the argument. Until then I had stood silent, not really much caring what was ultimately decided. Danarius, much to my surprise was not contemptuous of this man’s request for the opinion of a mere slave, instead he looked at me and told me to freely speak my mind. And I did. I told him it wouldn’t do for a Tevinter senator to die when it was in his power to return to Minrathous and make sure that the Senate intimately understood just what it was they had lost in the midst of what on paper would look a victory. And to my great surprise Danarius was silent, considering what I had said, and ultimately agreed to my getting him out before all hope was lost.

“Danarius was weakened, his wounds only healed so much as they wouldn’t kill him because the healers that were left were greatly taxed and he was in no shape to attempt to heal himself. Before it was over I was carrying him because he had nothing left in him but I got him there and to the last ship leaving. It had been decided that it was simply too dangerous to send anymore and those that were left were now doomed. They took Danarius readily because the sigil on his armor identified him as a magister and a senator but they refused me, said there was no room left for a simple slave. Danarius, weak as he was argued but it did no good, finally his last words to me were that I was to survive at all costs. With that I was left standing on the dock watching the skiff leave, watching as my master was taken to safety and I was left behind. I couldn’t get my mind around it; I was alone and in all honesty did not know what to do. It was an explosion that broke me out of that stupor, one close enough that it threw me into the water and I knew I had to go. I had to get away from this place or I would die as sure as the people we had left behind. So I ran. With Danarius’s words in my head, I ran.

“Until then I had taken no serious wounds but trying to get clear of the Qunari I ended up taking several. I refused to let them slow me down and finally I made it clear of the town and into the forests. Once I was there the Qunari decided one man wasn’t worth traipsing through nearly impenetrable growth to recover and I stumbled pretty blindly for what felt like days though I really couldn’t tell you for sure. I was pretty weakened from blood loss and was completely ill-equipped for existing in those environs.”

Hawke could hear his voice slowly losing strength and when he fell silent she let him for a while, gently tracing the tattoo that ran gracefully up the center of his chest while he was lost in his thoughts.

“This is when you ended up with the Fog Warriors isn’t it?”

Fenris sighed.

“Yes.”

When he didn’t say more she flattened her hand to his chest and looked up at him, studying the sad look on his face.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to Fenris. I know all I really need to, you know that.”

He looked down at her a moment before nodding. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her, he just didn’t know if he had the strength to, not now. He was silent for a good while, debating within himself and she waited patiently until he finally decided where to begin again.

“I was with them for a long time. I had no idea then but it had been the better part of a year when Danarius came for me. It had taken him that long to heal and find me, though I still have no idea how he managed it.” Hawke looked back at her hand to hide a flash of guilt when he said that because she did but had never told him. “A lot of what happened that day is a blur to me but I remember wounding Danarius. He was very lucky that one of his men hit me when they did because otherwise I would have disemboweled him but as it was I only managed to take him out of the fight temporarily. While I was busy with his men he managed a force spell of some sort that hit me unaware and like a boulder. After that I really don’t remember anything until I woke chained on the ship back to Minrathous. They had apparently kept me unconscious until Danarius decided it was time.

“I don’t know what I expected but he was completely calm, completely controlled and somehow that frightened me more than the worst fury I had ever seen him in. And it was then that I learned that Danarius had no need of a whip or any other of his interesting little devices of torture to inflict pain, at least not with me. He was after all, the author of these tattoos. I always knew that in the presence of magic they would burn, whenever magic was used on me it was worse but it was something I could tolerate, even ignore. What I didn’t know was that he could literally drain the lyrium in them like some sort of magical tick and then use it against me, sending spells along them that did me no real physical damage but felt like I was being turned inside out. Danarius was more than happy to instruct me on just how painful this could be, over and over and over. Even after we were back at his estates in Minrathous where he kept me in his private rooms in the basement, the ones where he did his research and where he marked me to begin with. There he had his choice of physical abuses as well, knowing that the lyrium, even weakened as he kept them would aid the healing of even the most grievous wounds with very little or no scarring. It would be months before I would see a day without pain, before I would even see daylight to know day from night.”

When Hawke suddenly pulled away, sitting up with her hands clenched in her lap he did nothing, simply studied her where she sat framed by the light of the fire. He could see her shoulders trembling and knew she needed a minute to digest what he had just told her.

“I wish I had just pricked him with that dagger,” she finally said, her voice strangled with anger and he knew she was referring to the vicious poison she had coated its blade with.

“I would have killed you,” Fenris stated lightly.

“Yes,” Hawke whispered, “But I went to Minrathous half expecting to die and he would have known a death at least a fraction as painful as he truly deserved.”

Fenris sighed and sat up next to her, reaching out to one of pull her hands into his and brushing his lips lightly across the back, studying her profile as she stared into the fire.

“Your anger is noble Hawke,” he whispered finally, “And I am honored that it is in my behalf. But if you had died that day we wouldn’t be here. I would still be there and no better off for the experience. I wouldn’t trade those months or any other indignity I suffered to watch Danarius die slowly if it meant not being _here_.”

He watched as she contemplated that, the muscle along her jaw working furiously. Finally she nodded, allowing that she understood, maybe even agreed but wasn’t quite willing to give up the righteous anger just yet. He left her, knew she was too tired to stay like this for long and was eventually rewarded when she finally turned to consider his face a long while before simply laying her head on his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around her and they both stared at the fire in silence until finally Hawke spoke.

“What happened next?”

Fenris sighed, considering his words carefully.

“Often when Danarius was done with me I would be completely insensible. You have to understand that most of his tortures had a point, there was something he was unhappy about and it was done and over. This was different. He was trying to, I guess, ‘fix’ whatever defiance it was that in his mind made what had been a completely compliant slave turn on him. This was torture for torture’s sake even if it did have a goal in the end. Danarius was taking me to the very edges of sanity and leaving me there, treading a fine line between breaking my spirit and breaking me completely. And it might have worked had it not been for Era.

“More than a few times I would hear her, talking to me, talking me through the pain and giving me something firm in a world gone fuzzy with torture and deprivation. She was sneaking into the one place on the estate that no slave was allowed, where the ones that _did_ see the inside of its walls rarely came back out alive and if they did they were damaged beyond repair. I would tell her she shouldn’t be there, that she would be no better than me if she were caught but still she would come. Not often but enough, just enough that it gave me something to cling to, this woman who would risk her own life in sympathy for someone who had shown her no kindness really because my world was such that I couldn’t afford it. She never touched me; she would instead just sit next to where I was chained and talk. Sometimes about what was going on outside those cursed rooms, sometimes she would tell me about herself and that was how I came to know that she was taken as a child and sold into slavery. She remembered her life as a fog warrior though; she would tell me her memories among them. She would talk until I was asleep and would be gone when I woke. Her fleeting presence gave me the strength to resist what Danarius was trying to do and in the end he failed, something hard for Danarius to conceive of much less accept. But I came out of it wiser not just because I knew the extremes Danarius could be pushed to by defiance but because I can now say I know exactly where my limits truly are, just how much I can take.

“Eventually he decided on that collar, one that I would never be able to free myself of and that kept me close. To stray too far from his side would be a slow, strangling death so there was to be no more notions of escape. And he had more than proven that with very little effort he could reduce me to something so close to nothing that death would be preferable if only he would allow it. I might now have defiance in my soul but he knew I dared not act on it beyond small disobedience and sometimes I think he came to like it that way, to enjoy my impotent anger.

“Once it was over and I was allowed back into the world things with Era went right back to normal. She would still openly watch me, sometimes smile at me for no reason and by now the other slaves had given up trying to stop her. Just one more thing she did that convinced them she was simple. But we both knew better, it was a secret she had entrusted me with and that I have kept until this very day. I stopped glaring at her for it but we both knew that if I did more than that I put her at risk. Danarius would have thought nothing of torturing someone he thought I gave a care for if I had displeased him. There were a few times I would find a flower hidden in folds of my blankets and I would know she had been sent to see to his chambers in our absence. She was,” he murmured forlornly, “The closest thing I ever had to a friend.”

Hawke sighed sadly when he fell silent, finally lifting her head to look at him. She didn’t remember seeing a fog warrior among the slaves while employed at Danarius’ estates. That fact along with the sad look he carried almost stopped her, almost made her not want to know.

“What happened to her?”

Fenris sighed, suddenly more tired than he could express. Life as a slave left little room for introspections like these, left far less room for morning things lost and this had shown him that he indeed mourned the loss of some things left behind.

“Once the estate in Seheron was rebuilt some of the slaves were sent there, she was one of them. So far as I know she is still there. Or at least I hope so. Sometimes when magisters inherit property they will have all the slaves sold off, sometimes even killed so that any with loyalty to their previous master won’t be a problem,” Fenris sighed, “Who knows what Hadriana did. Danarius I understood, not her. I never really understood her.”

When Fenris lay back down, Hawke sat a few moments more, thinking. Finally she threw a leg over him, straddling him and bent down to slant her mouth over his with a passion that surprised him, tired as she was but that he had no trouble matching. When she finally pulled back she hung over him a moment studying his face, the green of his eyes and contemplating how she understood Hadriana just fine without ever once knowing her motivations.

“ _This_ ,” she whispered, “Was what Hadriana wanted from you Fenris. But she never got it did she? Because she is so warped she doesn’t know how. Desire isn’t something you can force, isn’t something you can demand and passion isn’t something to control. You have to _ask_ for it and it _has_ to be freely given.”

Fenris looked up at her a moment before reaching up and pulling her back down to him, unwilling to consider her words now. There would be plenty of time for that later.

* * *

“Why,” Donnic remarked wryly, looking down to where his wife lay nestled against him, her head on his shoulder and blankets pulled tight against the chill in the room. “Does this not surprise me? Only this time she’s not just asking her friends to follow her into some fool’s errand, she’s asking us _all_ to!”

Aveline sighed, knowing this was a kneejerk reaction from her husband, one she had come to expect whenever Hawke was involved.

“I’m not so sure she doesn’t have the right of it Donnic. Tevinter falling to the Qunari in of itself would be no great loss far as I am concerned. But she’s right - there are people who have done nothing to offend anyone who would suffer. And you never met the Arishok. If he’s any indication then no, they won’t stop at just stamping down Tevinter.” Aveline paused a moment, thinking back all those years. “I have fought blood mages and not been so scared as I was of that one man, even when he was being _restrained_. He didn’t fight for the sake of it like a possessed mage, he had a purpose and that purpose still makes me shake.”

Donnic let the silence fall over them, considering what she had said and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he finally admitted. “I guess if it were anyone else….”

“Eh,” Aveline smiled up at him, “You would still think it insane and you might even be right.”

Donnic chuckled, tightening his hold on a woman he was still all these years later, amazed had wanted anything to do with him.

* * *

Cullen sat silent in the rooms Elsa had found for Carver. Both men sat staring at the fire, whisky in hand while each considered what they had learned today. It was, Cullen mused, a lot to take in especially all at once. He knew that the implications would start to make more sense once it had but there was one that he already had a very firm grasp on. Turning he looked at Carver. He looked tired and Cullen sighed. They probably all did. Hawke could be exhausting even without the far reaching consequences, and he doubted she truly understood what she was asking.

“She’s here because of the Circles you know,” Carver suddenly stated flatly, not looking away from the fire. “She knows her history as well as I do, Mother made sure of that. Without mages any campaign against the Qunari is doomed. She sees it every day in Seheron. Her Fog Warriors can’t field many mages and are reduced to terror tactics.”

Cullen nodded, taking a silent drink from his glass, glad of the burn the whiskey generated.

“I want to bring Erwin into this discussion tomorrow. I brought him here to assess him for the Knight-Commander position in Starkhaven and frankly this is beyond anything I could have hoped to use to do it.”

“He is,” Carver agreed, finally looking at Cullen, “A good man. A good Templar as well as a natural leader.” When Cullen nodded, agreeing with his opinion, Carver regarded his friend a moment. “But why promote him now? He seems happy with his position as Knight-Captain.”

“Exactly,” Cullen inclined his head, his gaze returning to the fire. “There are four Knight-Captains in Starkhaven and Erwin is the only one of the four that hasn’t shown a care for who gets the position. He has handled everything I could throw at him with aplomb, and dealt with Cassandra Pentaghast’s unannounced visit with a flair for diplomacy that I frankly didn’t suspect he had in him. And as for promoting him now?” Cullen sighed heavily. “ _She’s_ why. I never wanted to be responsible for one Circle much less two and had hoped to have more time but with Ostwick asking for my assistance and now the Seekers looking at me sidewise I think it best to cut the apronstrings and set the Circle in Starkhaven loose.”

Carver thought that over a moment and nodded. It made sense.

“I’m surprised that the Chantry hasn’t tried to send someone.”

“I think they are too busy. The mage rebellion is fiercer in Orlais, Anderfels and Nevarra than anywhere else.” Grunting at the irony, he chuckled. “I suspect because they are funded by Tevinter.”

Carver saw nothing particularly funny in that but held his peace. He knew Cullen was as tired as he was and tended toward melancholy when like this. He knew if he waited Cullen would fill the silence and eventually was rewarded.

“No I think they sent these Seekers because by all rights our mages should be rebelling with just as much fury and be just as well funded as those they are familiar with. We too share border with Tevinter. They don’t understand it, especially since this whole mess started here in their minds.” He sighed heavily and looked thoughtfully at his drink. “And to arrive and find me not just in charge of one Circle but two? With both bursting at the seams with both compliant mages and Templars from all corners of Thedas? They are trained to see conspiracy everywhere.”

Carver nodded and drained his glass. His friend he knew was right.

“Elsa tells me you have the Starkhaven First Enchanter here?”

“Vistana requested that I bring him,” Cullen nodded, “Something about his research into places where the veil is thinnest because Kirkwall seems to suffer from something like it because of that Magister the Grey Wardens imprisoned under our noses. She seems to think he might know something that could help.”

“I think they should be included in this. If we decide to help Hawke, it will be _their_ people who will be forced to march, more so than ours.”

Cullen sighed, sitting his glass down on the floor next to his chair and standing. It had been a long day.

“I agree,” he replied softly, “I’m sure Hawke will be asking for them tomorrow anyway.”

Carver watched as Cullen turned and left his rooms without so much as a farewell. Not the least offended because he knew the Knight-Commander well enough to know he wasn’t being impolite, he was simply lost in his own thoughts, Carver decided he might have the right of it. Standing and stretching, he went to find his borrowed bed.

* * *

Maraas regarded the one bed in the room they had been given. It was big enough for them both but Hassrath had taken one look and planted himself on the couch on the other side of the room. Sighing she stripped out of her breeches, leaving the tunic and sat on the edge of the bed looking at him. He sat with his sword across his thighs and a look like he fully intended to stay awake the rest of the night, not entirely trusting the environs they found themselves in. Maraas knew the Thedosian version of arvaarad, these Templars as they called themselves, were guarding the door and was more willing than he apparently to trust their abilities. When she made no move to retire, he finally looked at her. She wondered what it was he saw when he looked at her. If he could see that she spent a great deal of her time fascinated that this society worked, even with its contradictions? Confused and scared by all the new things that were constantly being thrown at them? Did he understand that over the course of their time together, not just since leaving the Qun, but _in_ _its_ _entirety_ he had become something important to her? That his presence was what kept her centered and on the course she had chosen for them? She chose freedom for herself but had worked harder still when he had chosen it along with her, knowing that it wasn’t just her own hide on the line now. Did he understand that?

Suddenly she sighed, long and heavily and held out a hand to him. He looked at it a moment, not sure what she was asking until finally it dawned on him – she was asking for _him_. Blinking and not entirely sure how to react, he finally chose to do what he had always done without question – he followed her lead. Standing he laid his sword along the couch, stripping off its sheath that he still wore across his back to lay with it, and silently took her hand. She pulled him gently to her, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her cheek to his stomach. Unsure, he laid a hand on her head, feeling the smoothness of her hair under his fingers and simply watched her. How long they were like that he didn’t know, but finally she pulled back, scooting back across the bed and pulling at the covers as she did. Once she was under them, she again held out her hand to him and he again did as he was asked, removing his boots and pulling off the shirt he agreed to because of the cold. Making no comment as she pulled the covers over him, he tried very hard not to show how truly frightening this was for him.

She could feel the tension in him, knew he was completely lost in this situation but rather than say something that might cause him embarrassment she simply pulled his arm out and slid herself under it, laying her head on his shoulder and her hand in the center of his chest. Looking down at her, his arm wrapped around her exactly as she had laid it, he heard her sigh. It was he knew from experience a contented sound. Soon she was asleep, lulled by the sound of his beating heart and he regarded the top of her head for some time before finally relaxing. Almost of its own free will his hand found its way back to her hair, catching a curl between his fingers and stroking it lightly while he regarded it in the light of the fire.

This he knew was a level of intimacy that the Qun would frown on. It could easily lead to things that were strictly the purview of the Tamassrans and Qunari were taught from a very early age what was and was not appropriate. He himself had never been called on by the Tamassrans but he well knew as Ben-Hassrath that where they had come from this simple act, one she seemed to find such comfort in would be enough for censure. Anything more would be cause for reeducation. It made him uncomfortable in a way he was unfamiliar and as he lay there listening to her steady, even breathing and caressing her hair he had to remind himself he was not Qunari and the dictates of the Qun no longer bound him. He was Tal-Vashoth and as such lived by his own terms.

Viewed in that light, he realized he had nothing really to feel uncomfortable about. Her presence was not unpleasant, her warmth pressed against him welcome. And the gentle scent of her hair, some flowery soap that he was sure the privateer had given her reminded him of simpler times. No, he realized suddenly, there was nothing wrong with this and without his realizing it, his arm tightened around her. She stirred a little, making some small sound and curling herself closer, her hand sliding across his chest until she was embracing him in her sleep. Looking down at her, he came to understand that not only was there nothing here to fear, this was something so right it made his heart ache to know it.

And it was that simple knowledge that let him sleep, lulled by the sound of her breathing in much the same way she had been lulled by his heart.

* * *

Shrawn sat at the edge of the bed, watching Vicenzo sleeping peacefully in the bunk next to hers. Over her was Isabela, one leg hanging off the edge and dangling not far from Shrawn’s head. Much as she had wanted to she just had not been capable of sleep. Too much in her head, too used to the soothing lullaby of water close by, too distrusting of the assassins in the room. Not that they had done anything remotely threatening, indeed they had hardly stirred in the night. Varric hadn’t seemed too surprised when they had been shown to a large room filled with bunks along with the Crows, said his information was that the Gallows was full to brimming with mages and their Templar guards so room would be at a premium. Sighing she glanced over her shoulder at where he lay in the bunk on the other side of hers and blinked several times when she realized he was awake and watching her. They regarded one another a few moments before Varric sat up and sliding off the bed, inclined his head towards the doorway that lead to a common area for several such bunkrooms. Nodding, Shrawn followed him, careful not to bang her head into Isabela’s foot as she stood.

Isabela, laying on her stomach watched through her lashes as they left before rolling over to stare at the ceiling above her a moment, smiling to herself before sleep again over took her.

Varric decided on a couch, one as far from the doors leading to sleeping chambers as possible because most were occupied and he had no desire to disturb anyone. Hoisting himself up, he looked up at Shrawn when she stopped some steps away, arms crossed.

“You okay?” he finally asked.

Shrawn sighed but didn’t answer right away, instead asking herself the same question.

“I haven’t set foot in Kirkwall in… thirteen, maybe fourteen years. I don’t like being back here,” she finally allowed.

Varric nodded. Shrawn didn’t like talking about herself, certainly resisted any questions about her past and Varric had gotten the distinct impression that if pressed she would probably walk away so he had let it be. Instead of asking the questions that immediately sprang to mind, he simply held out a hand and was rather pleased when after looking at it a moment she took it and sat down next to him. She looked… prickly, walls and sharp edges everywhere and something inside Varric understood even if he didn’t understand why. Without thought to consequences he reached out and drew her to him and she didn’t resist. His kiss was gentle and unassuming, demanding nothing she wasn’t willing to give freely and when they finally broke apart he was surprised to see her eyes bright with tears. She didn’t say anything though; instead she pulled herself up onto the couch and laid her head in his lap. Looking down at her a moment, her eyes closed he sighed and let his hand stroke lightly at her hair, staring off into darkened doorways. 


	46. Chapter 46

“So you’re responsible for all those documents,” Hawke stated flatly when she was finally introduced to Julyan, who was looking much better for having had a few hours of sleep. He had for the most part kept his peace the day before, only speaking up when Fantin requested that he clarify something. Julyan simply inclined his head politely.

“Julyan is one of my creatures, Hawke,” Fantin supplied casually. “I told you I did a lot of business in Tevinter and it behooves me to have ears where they most count.”

“Then he is a mage,” Fenris supplied, his voice light. “Possibly even a magister. No one enters the orbit of the Archon who isn’t, unless he was one of the slaves.”

Both Julyan and Fantin regarded the elf behind Hawke a moment.

“I _am_ a mage and I was _apprenticed_ to a magister that worked for one of the Archon’s advisors,” Julyan finally supplied. “It was necessary to gain the kind of access Master Fantin required of me.”

Hawke eyed the man a few moments before speaking.  “Then you would do well to not flout that fact in the faces of the Templars inside their own house,” she replied pointedly. “Cullen knows you are a fugitive from Tevinter and would think it his duty to keep you here.”

“He can try,” Fantin shrugged before nodding, allowing she was right. “Julyan is not the only mage in the employ of the Crows. We take children far younger than do the Templars and sometimes have years of training invested in an apprentice before they show signs of magic. Believe me the Crows do not waste their investments unless it is absolutely necessary.”

Hawke sighed. Somehow it didn’t surprise her that his organization would have mages in its midst even if the thought had never once crossed her mind in the past. And it did not escape her that Fantin had just told her that this Tevinter would not be here if he did not feel it was wise.  He was after all, an ‘investment,’ and a long term one at that which Fantin had made long ago. Julyan regarded her flatly for a moment as she lost herself in thought, considered the tired expression as she stared off at something no one else would see. She was, he mused, older than he had expected.

“So you are the one that killed the famous Danarius? You had Minrathous in an uproar for a time. The Archon was publicly outraged and privately relieved.” Julyan paused to smile tightly at her as her attention came back to him. “It would seem he kept a close eye on Danarius, fully expecting him to make a bid for his throne. Everyone in Minrathous is convinced that it was a ‘fabled’ Crow that did the deed and we have you to thank for a marked rise in our notoriety there.”

Fantin grunted, not commenting. He well knew that wasn’t necessarily a good thing at the present, though it could have some advantages in the long run. Hawke simply regarded the Tevinter Crow without much concern for what he had said, she could frankly care less. Julyan looked past her to where Fenris stood behind her chair, arms crossed and a dark look painted across his face.

“The military in Seheron is demoralized by his death, even now. He was to them a great hero and several have attempted to step into his shoes without much success. His heir, Magister Hadriana hasn’t even attempted it. Wise woman, knows her limits. She does keep a finger in Seheron though, happily funneling as much as she can to those fighting the Qun. Her star may still rise there, one never knows.”

“Yes,” Fenris replied lightly, sensing somewhere this man was trying to bait him and refusing to rise to it. “One never knows.”

Hawke sighed. There was a time and not one too distant that Julyan’s observations would have made her happy. This was after all, exactly why she had gone to Minrathous to begin with, to try and gain advantage for the Fog Warriors in whatever way necessary. Now she wondered, in her darkest places if she had not inadvertently cut off access to what could have been a potent ally against the Qun. Taking a deep breath and shaking herself mentally, she thrust that thought away. Not only was it no use to cry over things already done, Fenris was right. Had Danarius not died then the elf would not be here and there was nothing to her mind to regret in either happenstance. 

“Please,” she turned her eye to Fantin, where he sat. “No more surprises.”

Fantin shrugged indolently before responding.

“You had yourself shut up in here,” he paused to wave a hand at the apartment she and Fenris had called home for over a month now. “Had I been able to work a way to tell you these things I would have. As it was I had to show my hand in order to get that decree of the Antivan queen to you and you will recall just what sort of a scene _that_ caused. Imagine what would have happened had I asked Sir Cullen for a private meeting?”

Hawke’s mouth snapped shut on the pointed rejoinder that immediately sprung to mind, knowing that he was right, much as it irritated her. When Fenris chuckled darkly from behind her, she glared over her shoulder at him but Fenris simply shrugged, completely unashamed. Quickly deciding that this was getting her nowhere, she looked back at Julyan.

“Tell me exactly what was in those documents. I don’t think anyone will be very impressed if the person standing there demanding their help admitted to complete ignorance.”

Julyan smiled thinly, allowing she was probably correct and proceeded to tell her all he knew. Fantin sat back and regarded Fenris who was in turn watching him through his bangs as he listened to Julyan, and wondered not for the first time just what was going on behind that annoyingly stoic expression.

* * *

“She is quite persuasive is she not?”

Sebastian paused, his belt half buckled and looked at Baldovin a moment.

“Yes,” he sighed as he finished, “She is. And she has good instincts, most of the time.”

Baldovin leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed as he regarded his friend.

“So you believe her?”

“That the Qunari are set to go mage hunting?” When Baldovin nodded, Sebastian sighed. “Oh most certainly. She knows more of them than we ever will, enough so that I would be willing to personally follow her without question. But war? She has not convinced me enough to petition Starkhaven for that. Not yet anyway.”

“Yet? You think there might be more?” Baldovin blinked.

“No, I think she has laid her cards on the table,” Sebastian replied lightly. “She knows she’s asking us to risk innocent lives and would not play games longer than necessary because of it.”

Baldovin fell silent, thoughtfully running a finger along his bearded chin.

“We have some lucrative trade agreements with Tevinter, ones that would pinch were we to lose them to a war of any sort,” Baldovin pointed out.

“I know,” Sebastian replied, sitting to pull on his boots. “But if it truly came down to it we would have no trouble finding new places to funnel our goods. No the question here will always come down to just what the _Qunari_ intend. They have been at war with Tevinter for a long time over Seheron, why would they choose _now_ to sidestep that status quo?”

“You think something is driving them?”

“I don’t know,” Sebastian sighed. “But I do think that if her Tal-Vashoth knew then we would as well. Maybe I will see if Maraas will consent to another conversation. Maybe she knows something that would help us glean a clue, something she doesn’t realize has value here. Something even Hawke wouldn’t think to ask.”

“I’ll see to it,” Baldovin nodded, pushing away from the wall. Sebastian nodded distractedly, already lost in thought.

* * *

Fenris stood silent and watching as the second day showed all the signs of being a repeat of the first, the only difference now that there were more players and often things had to be explained a second time for them. Cullen had brought with him a Templar he introduced as Sir Erwin from Starkhaven and two mages, one he knew to be the First Enchanter of Kirkwall, the other introduced as the First Enchanter of Starkhaven. That the First Enchanters were being included without her having to ask pleased Hawke to no end, even though it meant she was now arguing with Vistana as well as Carver. Aveline seemed happy to simply observe, occasionally speaking up when she wished a point clarified or to make a sharp one of her own. Erwin too seemed happy to watch while Carver and Vistana insistently poked at any perceived hole in the story they were being told, but Fenris could see that though he was holding his tongue he was missing very little. Oddly enough it was falling to Cullen to referee the sometimes heated exchanges and quite often he would lay a hand on Carver’s arm, usually completely cutting off whatever it was the Regent was saying when he did.

Strangely the Prince had not put in an appearance. Fenris wondered about that, especially when Maraas and Hassrath also failed to appear. When Fantin waved Vicenzo over and whispered something to him, something that sent him from the room, Fenris suspected that the absences had not passed his notice as well. Deciding that Hawke was fine where she was Fenris followed the Crow from the room, watching as he quietly asked sergeant-at-arms responsible for guarding the door where he might find Sebastian. When the sergeant-at-arms ordered one of his men to escort him to the prince, Fenris fell silently in beside Vicenzo and the Crow made no comment.

* * *

“Tell me Guard Captain,” Erwin asked, leaning over so that Aveline could hear him over the pointed argument between Vistana and Isabela that had erupted when the First Enchanter had besmirched Isabela’s honesty, “You are acquainted with at least some of these people, no?”

Aveline regarded the Templar a moment before nodding.

“Hawke, Carver and I fled Ferelden together. Varric and Isabela we met here but yes, I am acquainted with them.”

“Do you believe them?” he asked mildly. “Knowing them as you do would you trust their word here?”

Aveline looked at Erwin a long moment, wondering just why Cullen had brought him and why he would ask this of her. Of all the people in this room, she had the least say in what was going to ultimately happen. Her job was the defense of the city itself and to her mind what Hawke was asking had little to do with that, yet anyway. She was only here she knew because Hawke had requested her presence. This man she did not know and could only guess at his reasons for asking. She considered her words carefully before replying.

“I have never known Hawke to overreact to anything, serah. Not when it involved someone else’s life. Her own she sometimes played loose with, but not someone else’s – ever.”

Erwin studied the woman sat next to him a moment, knowing as all of Kirkwall did that she was a fast friend of the Viscountess and had followed her into more than one storm in her life. While most might think that made her opinion suspect, Erwin thought not. In all the time he’d spent in Kirkwall he had seen the marked improvement in the city guard that this woman had accomplished. By all accounts this Ferelden refugee had more honor in the clippings from her pinky nail than did most, and the look she had given him spoke of nothing but honesty. He nodded thoughtfully.

“Then you believe her?”

Aveline sighed.

“I believe she is right, the Qunari _are_ up to something and I can follow her logic that Tevinter would necessarily be the logical target, yes. And my father was a Chevalier,” she responded levelly. “One of the many things he made sure were part of my education was military history. That and a personal view of what exactly Qunari can and will do make me believe that she is most certainly correct about the consequences of the Qunari making a conquest of Tevinter.”

Erwin nodded, he too had been present in Kirkwall when the Qunari had decided they had had enough of the constant provocation of extremists within the city. It still shamed him that a good portion of that provocation had come from the Chantry pulpit and had been supported by Templars. There were, he knew those that would take even a message of peace and make it a cause for war in any institution but that it was this time the Chantry herself…. He looked at Hawke where she stood trying to get Vistana and Isabela to both calm down and wondered. Erwin knew better than to believe everything that got told in the alehouses – not only did bards tend to glorify, their glorifications tended to be further exaggerated with retelling. But he had been witness to more than a few of the events in question and to this day still wondered at Cullen’s decision to allow a known apostate the freedom he had suffered this woman to have. Even Knight-Commander Meredith had turned a blind eye to it. Looking back at Aveline whom he could see was considering joining the attempt to quiet the argument, he laid a light hand on her arm to draw her attention.

“Thank you,” he told her honestly. “I appreciate your candor.”

Aveline nodded distractedly as she finally stood and brought a steel gauntleted hand down on the table hard enough to scar it.

“Personal attacks get us nowhere so both of you sit down and shut up!” Pointing at Isabela as she gave every indications she was going to continue, Aveline ground out, “You will either stuff a sock in it, slut or I will have my guards search your ship and if they find so much as a sniff of contraband I will seize it and make you _walk_ home.”

Isabela’s mouth snapped shut and crossing her arms she sat heavily, glaring at the guard captain viciously. Vistana simply grunted and gracefully retook her seat. Realizing she now had the attention of everyone in the room Aveline sighed and turned a pointed look at Cullen.

“Can I humbly suggest we take a break now?”

* * *

“You say there has been a general increase in the Qunari population on Seheron?” Sebastian looked thoughtfully at Maraas. “Since when?”

Maraas considered the question a moment. She had been born on Seheron and could remember smaller cities, fewer settlements and a countryside dominated by farms but to pinpoint exactly when the increase had started…

“Before my reeducation,” she replied thoughtfully, “But not much more. Maybe a decade? Maybe a little more?”

“Reeducation?” Baldovin asked quietly from his place standing behind Sebastian’s chair.

Maraas sighed sadly, only wishing this to be in her past but it was a ghost that haunted her.

“Whenever someone’s actions or words defy the teachings of Koslun one of two things can happen depending on the severity. They can be censured, which generally means that their ‘crimes’ are made public and for a prescribed time they are shunned by everyone and are for effective purposes dead to all in the Qun. Or they can be reeducated. This means that they will be sent to camps, usually work camps and they will be shown the errors of their ways.”

“And you were reeducated?” Sebastian asked, and when Maraas nodded slowly, an oddly shamed look to her eyes, he sighed. “Why? Or is that too personal.”

“It is,” Maraas replied promptly. “But I will tell you, so you will understand. I was called on by the Tamassran more than a few times….”

“Tamassran?” Sebastian cocked his head.

“The Tamassran are in charge of many things but their main responsibility is procreation of the Qunari. They decide who will breed with whom and if a pregnancy should result, they are responsible for those offspring. They take the babies to large nurseries and it is there that the children are raised, educated in the ways of the Qun and it is there that the Tamassran decide what their ultimate role will be inside the Qun.”

Sebastian did little more than blink at Maraas but Baldovin was a little faster to get to the heart of what she had just said.

“So what you are saying is that Qunari are bred like pedigree dogs? And the resulting children are not raised by their own parents but by the same administrators that chose their pedigree?” He paused to meet the Prince’s eye a moment, both men at a loss for words. “And there is no… well…”

“No,” Hassrath growled. “There is no mating except for that which the Tamassran orders.”

“Well that is not entirely true,” Maraas cut in, “It does happen, but when it is discovered then the parties will be reeducated.”

“And if the reeducation does not work?” Sebastian asked.

“There is no time limit on reeducation. But if it is determined that there is nothing in the individual to redeem through reeducation there are things that can be done.” Hassrath growled, crossing his arms and regarding the stone-faced look on the larger man’s face Sebastian decided not to pursue this line of questioning, for now anyway. As a former member of the Ben-Hassrath, those ‘things’ were probably more his purview than Maraas’s anyway.

“You were called on by the Tamassran…” he prompted Maraas.

“Yes, several times. It was at best a duty I found distasteful but it was a duty nonetheless,” Maraas continued after a short pause. “You have to understand that often the parties involved would be from different places and usually it was the male that was brought to the female. Very rarely would you ever see your partner again. But this time it was different. This time they wanted me to copulate with someone I knew, a man I had grown up with in the nurseries and had a great affection for. He was…” She paused to consider her words in the common tongue carefully, “He was, how you would say?  Like a brother? To me? I refused him and it was he that told the Tamassran. It was determined that I was allowing my own feelings to usurp the will of the Qun….” Maraas trailed off, the slightly disgusted looks on both Sebastian and Baldovin’s face did not surprise her and was not what caused her to stare at her hands. It was the hard stare she could feel from Hassrath behind her that was causing her discomfort. He had known that she had been reeducated, the Ben-Hassrath had made sure of that so that he would know that his charge had a storied history, but he had until now never known exactly why. Studying her fingers as they clenched and unclenched she wondered what he was thinking.

“That,” Baldovin declared with his usual frankness, “Is state-sanctioned rape!”

“Baldovin,” Sebastian sighed, holding up a hand to quiet his friend, “We may not approve but it is their way. I am sure there are things we do that appall them as well.”

“A great many,” Hassrath snorted haughtily, shooting a hard look at Baldovin. “Like allowing children to starve in the streets while your nobles dine finely and throw their scraps to their dogs. As if those children were worth less than a dog! You people put a price on _everything_ , including sentient beings _even_ if you do not openly buy and sell them as they do in Tevinter.”

When Baldovin looked to argue Sebastian stood and laid a hand on his guard captain’s shoulder, shaking his head to silence whatever he was about to shout back at the Tal-Vashoth’s hard words but Hassrath was not done.  “In the Qun no one wants, everyone has whatever is required. And no one is treated less than what they are – _thinking_ , _feeling_ _beings_!”

“Then why,” Baldovin asked heatedly, “exactly is it that you are _here_?”  Hassrath’s mouth snapped shut, a stony look taking over his expression though his violet eyes still burned with outrage.

Silence reigned over the room until Maraas finally responded, “Hassrath is here because of me.”

All eyes suddenly fell on her, watching in silence as she continued to contemplate her own hands.

“He is here,” she replied in a small voice, “Because of his feelings for me. _I_ was the one unhappy in the Qun, not he.”

Hassrath grunted, sounding much like someone had hit him in the gut unawares. He stared down at her, sitting looking as small and guilty as anyone possibly could. Sebastian couldn’t be sure but he thought something gentle passed through his eyes as finally he spoke.

“That,” he replied evenly, “Is not entirely false, but it is also not entirely true either. Do not take credit for things you have not done. It was my choice, either way.”

Maraas didn’t look up but after a moment she did nod. Hassrath regarded the back of her head a few moments longer before looking at Sebastian.  “The ranks of the Ben Hassrath began swelling the same time I was sent from Par Vollen. That was fourteen years ago. I remember because…”

He was interrupted by a discreet knock. Sebastian sighed and called for whoever it was to enter as he again sat down. He was vaguely surprised when one of the Crows and Fenris were allowed in by his guards. Fenris simply inclined his head and looking oddly at the less than happy look on Hassrath’s face, decided to take up stance next to him. Vicenzo bowed and introduced himself as Master Fantin’s messenger and asking when the prince would be joining the discussion. Sebastian sighed again, musing to himself that he had been asking questions of the Tal-Vashoth for several hours now and though he had learned a lot about the Qunari, he was no closer to the answer he sought. Perhaps there was nothing there. Looking at Hassrath a moment, he decided he wanted at least an answer to the question that had last been put to them.

“You remember because?” he prompted the warrior.

“I remember because it was shortly before the death of the Arishok, here.”

Sebastian nodded, about to throw in the towel when Fenris shot a look at his kossith friend.

“ _The_ Arishok? With a capital ‘a,’ Arishok?”

Hassrath nodded.

“You mean to tell me that Hawke dueled and defeated _the_ Arishok? Not a garden variety general? She killed one of the _three_ _pillars_ _of_ _the_ _Qun_?”

Hassrath nodded again, starting to look at Fenris just a little warily.

Fenris looked at the floor between his feet a few moments, trying to absorb that.

“What exactly,” Baldovin asked, not liking the look on the elf’s face. “Are the three pillars of the Qun?”

“They are what you would call our leaders,” Maraas supplied, “Though that is a simplification at best. The three of them together are responsible for the whole of the Qun.”

“The Arishok is the general in charge of all things martial,” Fenris responded before cursing colorfully in Arcanum. “It makes sense that they would send him to recover the book, I don’t know why but it just never dawned on me that Hawke was talking about the leader of the Qunari armies.”

“That he died at the hands of kabethari was something that caused a stir, even in the Qun,” Hassrath nodded. “But the Tome of Koslun was returned either way and it was to his honor that it was.”

Sebastian said nothing, eyes ticking back and forth as he considered what was being said.

“The Tome,” he finally said, “The Qunari sat here for years looking for it. And ultimately it was returned to them but at the price of one of their leaders. Shortly before, there is a buildup on Seheron, they begin to send not troupes but people, everyday people to set the stage. Once there are enough….”

“They begin to push harder on Tevinter,” Baldovin finished for him. “They start picking harder and harder at the edges, keeping Tevinter over _there_ where they can’t see what they are doing.”

“And what they were doing was a _military_ buildup, now that the infrastructure had been created to support it,” Fenris agreed. “It makes sense. The Arishok was not _just_ here to recover a book. He was sent here to _observe_ and when Isabela stole the book he was given a golden opportunity to sit and observe for a _great_ while. No matter his ultimate goal he could not return to Par Vollen without that book. And who knows exactly what information was sent back to Par Vollen.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” Sebastian observed dryly, looking at Hassrath who simply returned his gaze with a stoic one of his own. 

“By the Maker can they be that patient? To plot and plan out a military campaign so far in advance? Because if what we are surmising is truth,” Baldovin shook his head, “Then this has been twenty years in the making.”

“Oh, the Qun is patient. It knows that some things cannot be rushed,” Maraas replied lightly. “You cannot make the sun rise any faster than it does on its own.”

“There is no way to prove this.” Fenris regarded Sebastian thoughtfully. “Those two escaped a reeducation camp, one on the very fringes of Qunari territory and wouldn’t have seen anything. It is amazing she knew where the profits of the camp’s labors were going at all.”

“Oh well,” Vicenzo chimed in for the first time, “I wouldn’t go so far as that.”

All eyes turned on him but he simply shrugged.

“The Crows have ways,” was all he would say.

* * *

“Oh by Andraste’s singed tits, not that damn book _again_!”

Everyone had been sitting politely listening to Sebastian, now they all sat staring at Isabela where she sat, arms crossed and a look that fluctuated between abject vexation and complete disbelief.

“I may just go back to Antiva and stab Castillon’s family jewels for hanging that stone around my neck! It refuses to go away, just keeps coming back to haunt me!”

Vicenzo glanced at Master Fantin where he sat next to Hawke from his own vantage by the door and found his father staring back at him. Vicenzo shrugged almost imperceptively and suddenly Fantin threw back his head and laughed. Vicenzo knew it was not premeditated, not something planned and used to advantage, instead it was one of the few times that he had known this calculated man to express genuine mirth. The shame of it was that only the two of them understood its true roots. Stifling a smile of his own, he watched as everyone else sat trying to figure out just what in this situation the Crow Master found so very amusing.

“Master Fantin?” Vistana finally found her voice, looking down her nose at the Crow across the table, “I find nothing comical here.”

“For once we agree, witch,” Isabela remarked darkly, “Because there _is_ nothing funny about this.”

“Oh,” Fantin wiped at tears that had escaped him, still chuckling as he tried to regain his control. “I wouldn’t expect either of you to understand. And no,” he held up a hand as Hawke opened her mouth to speak, “I am not explaining either. Just understand that this is most definitely unexpected.” Ignoring the glare he was getting from Isabela, one that would probably wilt lesser men, he looked back at Sebastian. “So you are surmising that the real mission of this Arishok was to size up the competition as it were. That at every port he stopped at along the way he was casting a net, looking for opportunities. How very Crow of them!”

“The Qun is nothing like your Crows,” Maraas protested.

“Oh you might be surprised,” Vicenzo volunteered for his master. “There are those among us who admire your Ashkaari Koslun and think him a great philosopher.”

Maraas fell silent and saw that Hassrath was regarding this Crow with an odd look.

“And,” Master Fantin again took control of the room with that one pointed word, “Isabela there gave them the opportunity to spend a great deal of time watching Kirkwall. They will know from their different dockings that every kingdom, indeed every town is different but will also know that at the very heart of it, which is apparently where the Qunari like to look, very similar as well. Oh, the irony of it!” He paused to look at Isabela, where she sat looking very petulant. “Your actions may well have convinced the Arishok that we are ripe for their picking! And indeed they went home with victory here in Kirkwall not snatched from them but handed to them along with a simple book!” Tsking at her as he shook his head he finally fell silent.

“Oh, shut up!” Isabela snapped belatedly.

Cullen sat back in his chair, watching the exchange from the other end of the table and looked at Carver, who had his head hung so that he could study the grain of the wood between his hands. He was he knew thinking the same thing he was, it was written all over his face. Hawke was right. It fit too perfectly. Hawke had assumed the Qunari to be using the mage rebellion as an opportunity but that was not it at all. It was indeed an opportunity but one that had fallen into the Qun’s lap unexpected. So very many of the Templar’s charges had fled to Tevinter that should they crush them a great many would be lost, and those that remained were either hiding for their lives or openly fighting for what they felt were their rights. And the Chantry was divided, Templars divided. The only force they possessed that wasn’t were the Seekers and they were distracted by shadows. Tevinter was also distracted, not truly seeing what was happening under their noses because of the power of history. Their fight with the Qun though often heated had for so long basically ended in a stalemate that they couldn’t contemplate that anything would change that. It was that arrogance that had given the Qunari the opportunity to plot their ultimate victory over Thedas. And now it was going to have to fall not to the Chantry as it always had before to lead them into war, but the kingdoms of Thedas, acting alone and in concert.

“We are going to need more than what you have so far brought us to convince anyone else that we are not _completely_ mad,” he finally filled the hush that had fallen over the room.

Master Fantin nodded, agreeing completely and already plotting how to go about getting it.

“We are probably safe for the winter,” the Crow observed. “The rainy season is upon Seheron and I doubt even the Qun has discovered a way to control that. Unless they are willing to lose a great many to the nightmare storms that haunt that part of the world then they will sit tight. We may only have until spring ladies and gentleman, so we best make use of it.”

“So,” Jaroslav asked lightly, in a voice that just barely carried even in the silence, “We are to war?”

Cullen looked at Erwin and was unsurprised when his Knight Captain simply regarded him a moment thoughtfully before nodding.

“Yes,” Cullen replied with a sigh, “I do believe that the Templars of Kirkwall are.”

“As are those of Starkhaven,” Erwin added with a nod. “We follow Kirkwall.”

“Not anymore,” Cullen threw out, making Carver look at him sharply but he held his tongue. “I am promoting you to Knight-Commander Sir Erwin. The Circle of Magi of Starkhaven is now yours.”

Erwin blinked, at first unable to comprehend what had just been thrust upon him so unceremoniously but finally nodding. He knew he could refuse and something in him wished it so but circumstances were now such that he could not.

“We still follow Kirkwall,” he finally repeated, with more mettle than he actually felt.

Cullen nodded and looked at the others in the room. Carver simply nodded, not liking it but understanding now that this would be the defining moment of his rule.

“If it is within my power,” Sebastian nodded, “I will have Starkhaven’s armies ready. I will need to figure out a way to get a message to Goran, but I will find a way.”

“I can help you with that,” Fantin sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair to regard Hawke, who was silent as the Void and completely inscrutable, like she couldn’t believe their success.

“We have a great deal to do and very little time to do it,” Cullen finally remarked. “I think this meeting is over, for now.”

Though the meeting was for all intents and purposes adjourned almost no one actually left the Gallows, all the different parties wishing to discuss and debate amongst themselves the finer points of what they now knew. Fantin sent Vicenzo off on some errand, taking Julyan with him and had followed behind Hawke and her brother as they retired to her apartments with Fenris. Cullen and Erwin disappeared in another direction with Aveline and her husband in tow, and so had the two First Enchanters, both a little stunned at the ultimate outcome and its implications for their charges. The only exceptions were Varric as he had trailed behind Isabela, who couldn’t get off the island fast enough. He was trying to sooth her ruffled feathers and it was no surprise to Sebastian when Shrawn followed silently behind them, shaking her head. Suddenly the room was much larger and totally silent as he considered the two Tal-Vashoth, both completely lost and forgotten.

They had come to Thedas with nothing, he knew because if what they had told him was true, then in the Qun truly nothing in your possession actually belonged to you, including yourself. Their information had literally been their only coin to escape Seheron and now that they had they had nothing to call their own and were at the mercies of those around them for everything – from the food they ate to the clothes they wore to the places they rested their heads at night. Sebastian felt pity for them though he knew neither would thank him for it and mused that he would not trade places with them for anything. Sighing, he looked at Baldovin who still stood leaned against the wall watching.

“Maraas,” he started gently, “I would like to know exactly what your role was in the Qun? Because at some point we are going to have to figure out exactly what we can do for the two of you.”

“What,” Hassrath snorted, looking down his nose at the prince, “makes you think we want anything from you?”

“Nothing,” Sebastian responded lightly. “But the two of you have done us all a great service and I for one would like to see you thanked for it. That is the way things tend to be done here. You do something for me and I return the favor, even if that favor is nothing but coin and my thanks for your time and effort. You see, Hassrath, you were not far wrong when you said we put a price on everything – we do. One thing we value above most things though is skill, those things that other people can do that we ourselves cannot. I am at the heart of it, beyond all the fancy titles and pedigree bloodlines, an administrator. I deal with and concern myself for people, from the lowliest to the loftiest. Those are my skills though I admit my effectiveness will always depend on my experience and that sometimes limits me. I suspect Maraas understands that.”

Maraas nodded slowly, wondering just where this conversation was going.

“If you were to hand me a hammer and ask me to build something I would be hard put to know what to do with the tool. That is why I keep people around me, people who have differing experiences so that I have a pool of knowledge to draw from, and I admit that is why I am so curious about the two of you. You most definitely have an experience that differs from mine.” Looking at Hassrath thoughtfully a moment, he decided to inform him of something he would not know but had brushed against inadvertently. “Because we put such a store in skills, it is necessary to teach them. For every starving child out there, somewhere there is an adult who has to watch as their offspring go without because they lack skills and opportunity. If you show these people the way to better themselves and give them the tools to do it, then not only will their lot in life improve, so will that of their children. And that is something that the Mald family has devoted themselves to. To say that they are in service to the crown is a simplification; they are in fact in service to Starkhaven.

“Baldovin is in _my_ service, captain of my guard technically because his greatest skills are martial and not as we have seen, diplomatic.” Sebastian paused to throw a look at Baldovin who to his credit had the courtesy to look sheepish. “But his family is a large one, one with ties all through the city. His sister works at the palace, a Mother in the Chantry but working not only in service to the Chantry but also to Starkhaven to make sure that the poor do not go without those things they most need. And it is not charity that she hands out - she insists that they work for what is given them, even if it is to simply sweep the streets. She works hard to find permanent employment for some, apprenticeships for others. And she teaches them, something I _insisted_ on because literacy is a gift that no one can ever take from anyone, one that empowers _everyone_ it touches. All the Malds work to support her, giving not only their time but their coin as well and insist that others inside the noble classes do the same.

“Not everyplace in Thedas is the same and to tar us all with the same brush demeans _you_ as much as it does _us_. Not all of us go home at night and count our sovereign. Some of us _do_ concern ourselves with the plight of others. Carver has, with far less in his coffers done much to raise the Ferelden immigrants within Kirkwall and has supported every effort of the Chantry to help those in Darktown and the Alienage. Kirkwall has far less to draw on than does Starkhaven but he is working to change that every day. Whatever your Qun taught you, though by no means perfect, we are _not_ evil, we are _not_ without sympathy and we are _not_ without a _conscience_. We would not have sat through two days deliberating whether or not we should go to the aid of a sovereign government that all of us find distasteful and ultimately decide that despite our differences of opinion we will indeed march at their side if we did not.”

Hassrath regarded Sebastian in silence before turning an eye to Baldovin, his expression completely unreadable. Baldovin made no comment, indeed simply returned Hassrath’s look with a flat one of his own as he wisely kept his counsel. Finally Hassrath inclined his head, allowing that Sebastian could have a point.

“The Qun teaches that all things have a place, have a purpose,” he finally allowed. “And that is what I am used to. To see sentient beings treated as less, it offends the Qun in me and I have to sometimes remind myself I am no longer of the Qun. I apologize.”

“No, don’t apologize.” Sebastian remarked quickly. “See this is the beauty of our system, Hassrath. When you see something that _offends_ you, you have the freedom to do something about it. And though it tweaks at the Chantry brother in me even I have to admit that it also leaves us all the freedom to examine our beliefs, to question the things we are taught and those things we have come to expect and change – _ourselves_ when needed and to openly share those changes. You _do_ _not_ necessarily have to completely abandon the Qun in order to live outside of it; you simply have to adapt it to where you are _now_.”

“That is an invitation to chaos,” Hassrath stated flatly.

“Indeed, sometimes it is,” Sebastian agreed readily, “But have you not already embraced chaos by leaving the Qun? It is from chaos that all order is born is it not, even the order of your Qun? And our way may seem like chaos to you but it is in its own way very orderly, kept in line with complicated checks and balances. The two of you sit perched on the precipice you know, you have the opportunity here and now to do something. What? I have no idea and I suspect neither do you. But there is little in life as liberating as losing everything comfortable and finding your way in chaos. Of this I can speak from experience because it has happened to me, and if I can in some small way help you along that journey it would be my honor and my privilege to do so.”

Hassrath fell silent, absorbing that as he stared thoughtfully at the floor behind Maraas’s chair. Sebastian suspected he had scored a point though with this stone-faced man it was hard to say for sure. Looking back at Maraas, who also had a contemplative look, he smiled.

“So, exactly what is involved in administrating a Qunari work camp?”

* * *

Maraas watched Hassrath from under her lashes. Ultimately it had been Knight-Commander Cullen who had taken their charge, arguing that they could be much more humanely hidden behind the walls of the Gallows than they could be sitting on ships smack in one of the busiest ports on the Waking Sea and everyone had to agree with his assessment. Although it in many ways pleased Maraas to be here she could see that it made Hassrath uncomfortable; the Qun still inside him nervous of the mages that surrounded them. That he had eventually become comfortable with Hawke told her eventually he would become comfortable here. That Sebastian had also decided to remain in the Gallows also pleased her because despite his constant curiosity Maraas had decided she rather liked the man and his gently authoritarian ways. And Fenris was also here, someone she knew Hassrath had missed in his absence, the elf having become a familiar companion during their voyage from Seheron, one that Hassrath had come to respect even for his differences.

Back in the same room, Maraas had wondered absently what he would do but indeed what he had done was to stand silent, staring at the fire with his arms crossed and lost completely in his own thoughts. And she had left him to it because she well understood that the last few days had presented more than their fare share of challenges for them both. Hassrath was not a thinker, had rarely truly been encouraged to do it beyond duty until now, and she wondered what it was that had so engrossed him. Finally sleep pulled at her and without her being aware it was happening she fell to dreams.

Hassrath knew when she finally slept, he could hear her steady even breathing and took comfort that she had found a solace that wasn’t to be his. How long he stood contemplating the flames he didn’t know, their room was an interior one and had no window for him to gauge by, but in some ways it felt like moments and in some forever. And in that unfathomable time he had found no answers, no certainty beyond that this indeed was chaos and he was uncomfortable in it but knew he had chosen it for good reason and would choose it again. Turning a look at Maraas, he studied her as she slept for some time, and considered her roll in that choice. He had not lied to her, was proudly incapable of the deceit he saw everyday around him here – he had chosen to follow her for more reasons than his own feelings. That she felt a responsibility both pleased and appalled him until he weighed it against the fact that at least part of the reason he had chosen to follow her was a firm belief that she would be defenseless in these lands, her innate naiveté used against her and it was a terror he held in his heart that it would be further tarnished and lost.

And it _was_ tarnished he knew because it had been that naiveté that had led her to believe she could secretly defy the will of the Tamassran and ultimately the Qun and that her friend would hold her secret safe. The Qun _had_ no secrets, only certainty. The certainty that the sun would rise, as would the moon behind it, the certainty that all things had a place in the world and the world had a place for it to occupy, the certainty that every action, every decision would have consequences far beyond the here and the now. In the camp the Qun had taught her that and had taught her well though it had failed in making her understand the depth of that truth and it was that failure that had lead her to choose a life outside the dictates of the Qun.

But was it a failure he asked himself. It was not the same failure that accounted for his being here so was either really a failure at all? Could he find it within himself to put away the Ben-Hassrath in him and view what she had done without those prejudices? He found that yes, yes he could and very easily as well because it was the fault of that failure that he found her so endearing to begin with. Maraas without that wide-eyed look of wonder that she had carried ever since setting foot upon the privateer’s ship would not be Maraas. Stripped of the nature that allowed her to see the mystery of the world in a single pleasantly spoken word she would be nothing to him and this he knew. She could be calculating, could even be hard but never would it be in her to be deliberately cruel, not so long as he was there to stand between her and anything that might jade her giving nature.

Hassrath sighed harshly, looking back at the fire. These protective and possessive thoughts had awakened a craving in him that while not unfamiliar was one not often felt. Though the Qun didn’t mark days of birth the way they did here he knew he was past his youth and suspected himself to be at least a decade older than her. In all that time the Tamassran had never called for him to contribute to the next generation of the Qun. It was not something he considered a failure because the choices of the Tamassran were not something he had ever thought to question, even now. He found himself wanting the intimacy they had shared the night before but on a level he knew would push at the fragile boundaries of his control and _this_ he knew was why their actions the night before would be cause for censure. And it wasn’t simply his ignorance that stayed him though that was enough to make him feel a marked shame. _She_ had plainly stated that her own experiences had been ‘distasteful’ and he had no way to know if she would submit to him simply out of a feeling of obligation, of _duty_. He might not be entirely sure what he wanted but he knew it was _not_ that. It was that uncertainty eventually that drove him from the room, quietly closing the door behind him before regarding the basvaraad that guarded their door.

“Take me to the elf.”

It never dawned on him to wonder how these men knew exactly which one it was he demanded.

* * *

When the pounding began Fenris shot straight to full wakefulness, quickly identifying where the offending noise was coming from, and throwing away the covers to begin searching for something to cover himself. Hawke groaned, cracking an eye open enough to note that the sun had not even begun trying to lighten the sky outside their window and rolling over to grab his pillow to cover her head.

“Tell them to come back at a decent hour,” she groused sleepily from between the pillows. “Unless the Seekers are burning the city in search of me I _do_ _not_ _care_!”

Chuckling as he pulled on the leather leggings that he habitually wore, Fenris shook his head and almost said something smart but the pounding started again. Eyebrows furrowed he ignored Hawke’s muffled curses and decided that it almost sounded like someone was trying to break the door from its hinges. Stalking bare-chested to the door, he pulled it fully open, expecting some emergency. What confronted him was indeed an emergency though few would appreciate it. Even he didn’t entirely understand it but one look at the kossith that stood outside his door and he knew that something had worked Hassrath to just this side of explosive. When he said nothing, simply reached up to finger the hilt of his sword in its sheath across his back, Fenris nodded curtly that he understood. Without closing the door he returned to the bedroom, pulling the pillow from Hawke’s head and pressing a light kiss to her forehead when she groaned and refused to open her eyes.

“It’s for me,” he whispered, not surprised when her eyes cracked to look at him in confusion. “I’ll be back.”

With that he snatched his jerkin and sword and left her laying there staring after him.

If the sight of the Knight-Commander and Fenris had become a much lauded tale among the Templars the ensuing one between the kossith warrior and oddly tattooed elf was destined for legend. Hassrath was in no mood to pull punches and Fenris was more than happy to oblige him. Both men were so focused on their opponents that they never noticed when the spaces outside the circle they were to stay in by mutual agreement soon filled with Templars. Even the Knight-Commanders, who had still been awake and discussing the Starkhaven Circle’s future were drawn. Whereas the crowd gathered for the polite if powerful sparring match between Fenris and Cullen had been a boisterous one, this one seemed to understand that this time there was a passion that had been lacking in the one previous and it was their silent observation that kept the illusion that this fight was to the finish, whatever that might ultimately be.

Hassrath’s silent intensity sparked a nervousness in Fenris, one that he consciously ignored but that his lyrium understood all too well and it glowed gently in the light, contentedly waiting his command should he require it. Fenris ignored it, knowing come what may, he wouldn’t be needing it. Hassrath had barely spared a glance at it before he had launched into an attack that had Fenris retreating under its intensity. This was no simple opening volley, designed to test at the opponent’s strengths and weaknesses because both men already knew where those lay. It also wasn’t something Hassrath was doing to intimidate his rival and Fenris knew it. This was something held tightly leashed finally let off the chain. When Hassrath broke off, backing away and confidently swinging his heavy longsword from one hand to the other in wide sweeps that had the tip just scraping the dusty sand that covered the floor Fenris had just enough time to wonder exactly what it was that had been released before Hassrath again moved in, impatient perhaps at Fenris’s pause.

Fenris again found himself retreating, confidently blocking every move the much larger kossith made because at the end of the day despite the sheer power of his attacks, Hassrath was no match for Fenris’s speed. The martial part of Fenris was pleased at these all out volleys because even the famous endurance of the Qunari warriors had its limits. Eventually, Hassrath would tire.

When Hassrath again backed away, breathing hard and a violent snarl parked across his face Erwin felt a tenseness in his chest, one that it took a moment for him to identify as fear. This Tal-Vashoth who until now had simply been a silent and imposing figure stood across the room looked primal with his long hair tangled in the horns that framed his head and his eyes burning with a desire to see his opponent bested. He looked like some… thing escaped from the Fade and the thought of being in Fenris’s place made his insides turn because he knew this was a reality that he would surely face. Cullen regarded the look on Erwin’s face and looking about he saw it echoed on all those faces about him. Turning a thoughtful gaze back to the fight when Fenris finally made a move, one that the kossith easily sidestepped because it hadn’t been a serious intent but one designed to draw Hassrath back into charging full tilt, Cullen came to a decision.

Hassrath did not take the bait that Fenris had tossed at him, instead regarded the elf with a contemptuous sneer and taking an opportunity that Fenris did not realize he’d given to drive his fist directly between Fenris’s shoulder blades.  The blow knocked the air from him, very nearly knocked his weapon from him and did cause him to lose balance under the added forward momentum. Fenris fell to his knees, skidding in the sand. Hassrath stalked after him and Fenris knew then that this was not to be a match played by any ordinary rule. Clutching at a handful of sand as he struggled to draw air into his lungs, he gracefully flipped himself around when he heard the heavy thud of Hassrath’s boot, launching the sand directly in the kossith’s face.

Hassrath roared in anger, frustrated that he was so easily tricked. Backing away he managed to blink enough of the offending grime away in time to see Fenris closing in, far too close for him to parry. Bringing his sword up in one hand to block, he shot the other out almost blindly and was gratified when it connected. Clenching as much of the jerkin that Fenris wore into a fist as he could he unceremoniously lifted the startlingly light elf off his feet, ignoring the bite of Fenris’s sword when the tip cut into his side just enough to draw blood. Before Fenris had a chance to even register that he had in fact drawn first blood his world exploded in a riot of color and dark as the kossith bowed his head enough to ensure a solid blow and yanked his face into what was the thickest part of the kossith skull – the space between the base of the horns.

Knowing it would take Fenris a few moments to collect his wits about him after the blow, Hassrath tossed him away and returned to trying to clear his sight. Fenris lay in the dirt, a long trail in it to show the power behind the almost casual way Hassrath had thrown him. He struggled for air, which had again been knocked from him and fighting his way to sitting, he struggled for equilibrium which the resounding blow had mercilessly disrupted. It was not until he turned to look at Hassrath, who was wiping the tears that were cleansing his sight that he realized he was bleeding as well. Hassrath had an outrageously crimson patch smeared in his white hair and as the kossith turned to regard Fenris he gently touched his nose, hissing at the pain and realizing instantly that it was in fact broken. It was only the shock of the injury that was keeping him from feeling it.

Both men suddenly stopped, looking at Fenris’s sword where it had fallen from his nerveless fingers after Hassrath’s blow. Looking back up at the looming giant of a man, Fenris cocked an eyebrow at him. Hassrath grunted, and hooking his boot under the sword in the sand he kicked it back to Fenris who watched it skid to a halt not an arm’s length away. Smiling with a feral intensity, Fenris wiped at the blood on his face as he got to his feet and picked up his weapon.

‘Round one,’ Cullen thought to himself, ‘to the Tal-Vashoth.’

And this was the way of it, for over an hour the two tested the bounds of polite combat, using every dirty trick in their collective arsenals. Sometimes Fenris outmaneuvered the often lumbering giant, sometimes Hassrath simply overpowered the smaller elf. But before the dirt settled, both men were bleeding from shallow cuts, covered in sweat-soaked grime and had thousand-yard stares that Cullen could remember from his days in training. Neither were willing to admit it but they were both done and it was Cullen who stepped between them. Hassrath growled but it was at best halfhearted and Fenris simply dropped to the dirt, sitting exactly where he had been standing. Cullen had no idea what had started these men down this path, but here was where it would end or he would have them both locked in their rooms and he said as much.

Fenris looked up at Hassrath, whom he found looking back at him. Cullen thought this something serious they both realized, and the fact that it _had_ been was entirely beside the point. Suddenly both men smiled and from there it was not too far to laughter. Cullen looked sideways at the both of them, shaking his head because the sight of either laughing, much less both at the same time was more than he could handle. Fatigue, he mused as he stalked off, maybe head injuries. As he joined the crowd now leaving the arena that was used for training during the winter months, he paused by Hawke, who had stood watching from the door throughout.

“I will leave them to your tender mercies,” Cullen remarked, the laughter still echoing in the high vaulted room. “Do try not to be too gentle, will you?”

Hawke didn’t look at him, just snorted derisively as if to say that went without question. Once the room was clear Hawke pushed away from the wall and stalked out into the arena. Neither man saw her coming because now Fenris was laying flat on his back and Hassrath had planted his sword and was leaned over it. She waited knowing that their mirth couldn’t last forever.

“I do not know what that was all about,” she finally ground out, holding up a hand when Fenris shot to sitting, looking like he was about to try and explain, “and I do not _care_. We will chalk it up to too long stuck in small spaces with nothing to do and leave it at that.” Without pause she reached out and grabbed Hassrath’s hand because he was closest. When he went to growl in protest, she latched onto an obviously broken finger and tugged to get the digit straightened out, completely unsurprised when his growl ended sounding more like a squeak at the completely unexpected pain. “Do not move,” she growled up at him.

“I would not test her, my friend,” Fenris mused as he found his feet a little unsteadily. “She may be small but she has a bit of a sadistic streak in her.”

“Oh,” she remarked levelly as she concentrated on drawing from the Fade to knit the bone back into place. “I haven’t even gotten to you yet.”

The gentle sarcasm in those words made Fenris groan and Hassrath regarded his friend’s bloodied face with just a hint of a smile.


	47. Chapter 47

It had been ten days since the meeting that had set them all on their course had concluded and Fantin was in a way completely unsurprised when Vicenzo had brought him a short missive, penned in a style of flourish that he had to admit _did_ surprise him considering who had sent it. Looking at his son pensively a moment, he ultimately waved him from the room. He stared at the door that closed politely behind Vicenzo for some minutes after, trying to decide if he should ignore the summons or not. He knew what she wanted, had wondered several times if she would put at least some of the pieces together and come to him. That she would instead pointedly ask for him to come to her had not occurred to him and thinking it over, he decided that if she felt an illusion of safety on her own ground then perhaps he _should_ go to her.

Looking at the window of the dilapidated Hightown mansion that he had appropriated without the knowledge of the Kirkwall Seneschal and had since paid good coin for once it was understood that his presence here in Kirkwall was not only expected it was also needed, he noted that dark had already fallen. Looking at the fire he decided he would let her wait. She was he knew, the impatient sort, one that pushed at boundaries simply because she could and charming enough that she often got away with it unscathed. Let her stew, wondering if her testily worded invitation was to be ignored or not. Maybe, he mused, she had worded it so in the hopes that he _would_ ignore it and she would be let off the hook. Smiling to himself he went back to the book he had been reading, content to let the day get much older before he put it down again.

* * *

It was well past midnight when Isabela sent the man on watch to his bed. She had decided that she could pace as easily on the deck as she could inside her cabin and the change of view was welcome. Cursing quietly to herself because she had forgotten her cloak but even the cold wasn’t enough to drive her from the deck yet, she walked for the forecastle, running her hand along the rail and angry at herself. The more she had thought about what the Crow had said that day the more she was convinced there was more to the story about that cursed book than she knew and the more convinced she became the more she wanted to know it. That it was a Crow, friend to Castillon that had what she wanted made her angrier still. He might never tell her, or more rightly might never tell her the _truth_ and she knew it, but her pride had forced her to send the invitation. That he had apparently chosen to ignore it just irritated her all the more, like she was nothing to concern himself with.

And maybe she wasn’t.

That thought stopped her in her tracks.

Maybe she wasn’t anything more than a pawn in this little game he called life. Maybe she should be glad he decided her not worth the effort. In truth the man scared her with his calculated charm and hidden agendas. Sighing heavily she leaned against the rail and simply stared out at the night. How long she stood there lost in her own head she couldn’t say, but she would never forget what brought her out of it. A touch, so light it took a moment for her to register it as hands slid along the exposed thigh between her high boots and higher skirt on both sides.

Swinging around fully intending to knock the piss out of whoever had this kind of nerve, she was frozen in place when she realized it was Fantin and her pause gave him the opening he required. Slapping his hands down on the rail on either side of her, he slanted his mouth over hers in a hard, passionate kiss. Her first inclination was to push him away and both her hands landed on his chest to do so, but as his tongue skimmed across her lower lip seeking entry, she became intrigued. Meeting his eye she saw nothing there but a desire for her and somewhere she made a decision – she had in her life had a lot of different people in her bed, from ruffians to nobles, from human men to elven women, but never had she taken a Crow that wielded the power this one did. So she allowed him the liberty he sought, playing his game, for now. Perhaps he would be another notch on her bedpost.

Most men would have at this juncture moved in, knowing that their intended target was at least willing to entertain the thought of a tryst, but not Fantin. He kept his body distant from her, a silent demand that she come to him and one she decided she would refuse. Make him wait, the same way he had her. When finally he broke it off, still looming before her with her caged by his arms he said nothing, just watched her closely. His silence made her nervous but she held her ground, a defiant glint to her eye that he found amusing.

“Isabela,” he finally murmured, “You wished to speak to me?”

She studied him, trying to work out his game, or if indeed there even was one but he had a face that made her glad this wasn’t a game of Wicked Grace because surely everyone would lose to him. “I did,” she finally responded, lightening her tone to one of unconcern. “But I have to wonder just what was it in my invitation that makes you think such liberties were in the offering?”

Fantin smiled, even allowing it to reach his eyes and Isabela cursed internally. This devious man was almost too handsome when he did that and he knew it well enough.

“Come now Isabela,” Fantin chided her gently. “There can be but one thing you want from me and we both know it. I am frankly unsure if I wish to share it. But,” he paused to run the back of his fingers along her breast, his smile growing when he felt the nipple harden under them, “I might be convinced.”

Grabbing his wrist but not pushing it away because that would be an admission she was unwilling to give him, Isabela glared at him. “You wish me to trade myself for something that I am unsure you even have?”

Fantin raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing. Instead he opened two fingers and caught her nipple between two knuckles, rolling it gently. Isabela swallowed hard but still refused to push him away, her glare unabated. Finally Fantin tsked at her, like she was an errant child.

“Come now,” he finally purred, leaning in just close enough so that he could catch the scent of her hair, “We both know you have traded yourself often enough, more often probably than you would ever be willing to admit. How is this different? I have something you want. You have something I desire. A simple arrangement between consenting adults.” Pulling back just enough to look her in the eye, he smiled. “Let us go somewhere more private and we can… discuss this further.”

“I cannot,” she stated in as light a tone as she could muster, somewhere knowing she was out of her depth. “I sent the watch to bed and I can’t leave the ship unguarded.”

“Oh,” Fantin chuckled, stepping back and so quick she barely had time to register it he had freed himself from her hand and instead had hold of hers. “Believe me when I say that at this moment your ship has never been better guarded. No one will disturb the sanctity of its decks.”

“No one but you, you mean,” Isabela replied and Fantin again smiled.

“No one but me,” he finally agreed.

Isabela sighed. He was, she knew, right- she had sold herself for everything from sovereign to information and sometimes for what had turned out to be nothing over the years. There was a time when her body had been her _only_ asset. What he asked was no different- but something about him caused her pause and she considered him closely before coming to a decision.

“I want to know what you know about the Tome,” she stated flatly.

“Of course you do,” Fantin replied voice as smooth as silk and without saying more, he pulled her with him across the deck. Isabela briefly considered protesting but decided they were past that now. He had won this round and she knew it.

Once inside, Fantin leaned against the door and reaching up without looking at what he was doing, made a show of pushing the bar that locked the door home. Isabela didn’t know what she had expected from him but when he simply stood there, back to the door watching her she decided this was not it. He said nothing, did nothing; he simply watched her, wondering what exactly she would do now that she had invited a wolf into her home. At first she did nothing, returning his gaze with one that tried hard not to be nervous of him. She had nerve, he knew, and at that moment he realized she had a fair share of bravery as well but she simply had no idea what she had poked at. Finally, her will broke first and she turned to a cupboard next to the table, pulling the doors open.

Fantin blinked at the plethora of different bottles hidden inside, some with only a mouthful left, some completely unopened and he mused she was certainly a creature of appetites. Hung along another shelf were wooden mugs and it was one of these she grabbed for. What intrigued him most were the full length mirrors that lined the inside of the cupboard doors and regarding his own reflection in one of them, he pushed away from the door. Isabela saw him coming in the reflection next to her and she was about to offer him his own drink when she found herself pulled back against him, one arm a steel band around her waist while the hand of the other found her breast. It was rough but Isabela had experienced rougher and she had to admit that the juxtaposition of what his hand was doing and the soft, almost gentle treatment of his mouth along her neck and shoulder had her insides thrumming.

“Hmmm,” he purred in her ear, “You smell good. Soap and the sea, intoxicating.”

“It was completely inadvertent, I assure you,” she replied somewhat haughtily, having long ago learned to keep her wits about her. “I had no idea of… entertaining anyone tonight.”

“Ah, is that so,” Fantin whispered, “Then you didn’t think it through before sending me that note.”

Isabela made no reply, much as he had expected. Reaching up he pulled her dress off her shoulders and let the garment fall to her waist, held there by the kerchief she habitually used as a belt.  He let his hands rest lightly on her and regarded her in the mirror over her shoulder. He had to admit, most women her age were starting to look long in the tooth but Isabela had managed to retain her form, and despite years spent in the sun and on the sea she had resisted the tanned leather complexion that most sailors acquired. He wondered absently what her secret was as he nuzzled behind her ear.

“Maybe I should have done this years ago,” he murmured, catching her eye in the mirror and watching as her eyebrow arched.

“But we’ve only just met,” she pointed out, but Fantin just smiled and let his hands have their way. Isabela let that comment roll around in her head before deciding she wasn’t going to work it out now, not unless he decided to confess it. Instead, she let herself get lost in what he was doing because the truth of it was that this man’s elegant hands had practice and it wasn’t long before she felt that familiar tense tingle starting deep inside her. Fantin smiled when her head fell back on his shoulder and one hand burying itself in this long black hair which he had left free. Tugging insistently, she pulled his mouth to hers and the kiss he bestowed on her came as close as ever she had come to burning her to the core with its sensuousness. This man she knew was playing her body the way bards played their lutes and somehow she couldn’t find it in her to be offended by that. It so very rarely happened that her jaded nature was challenged that she knew she would deny him nothing if he chose to ask for it. Not now.

When one of his hands slid down her stomach, his long fingers tracing every contour he found until it found the boundary her kerchief had created, she surprised herself when after catching his finger under it, he yanked hard.  She whimpered into his kiss at the pain. The material gave and her dress tumbled to the ground at her feet. The way he had her pulled back to him she could feel him hard, pressed against her now naked backside and arching into his hands she pressed herself into him. When he growled into her mouth she shuddered, recognizing only too well the sentiment he had just wordlessly expressed. Enjoying that little bit of power she had in this situation she pressed herself back against him, using her knees to rub herself up and down against him through his breeches and that was what settled him. Groaning he pulled his mouth from hers and swallowing hard he focused on the reflection before them, watching as she manipulated herself against him, the muscles of her thighs that peeked out of her high boots working. By the Maker, she is a sensuous sight- he mused before burying his face in her hair, whispering thickly into her ear.

“Look at what I’m doing,” he ordered her and was unsurprised when she lifted her head to watch his hand slide down her stomach. He was paying no attention to his hand, he was watching her as his fingers slid between her legs, tracing along her outer lips before dipping in. Isabela’s eyes closed as his fingers brushed past her already throbbing nub and pushed straight into her. Growling in her ear he grated out, “No, watch what I’m doing to you, Isabela. Watch it all.” Her eyes popped back open and she did as he asked, watching as his elegant hand did some very inelegant things to her and soon she was matching his rhythm, completely unaware of how she was grinding herself against him and completely unaware of the picture she made to him, reflected in the mirror before them. Her eyes were glued to the reflection of his hand as it worked her, whimpers escaping her each time he very deliberately pressed his palm to the nub that crowned the opening. 

He was now jamming his fingers in as he sought to push her to completion. It was the heavy-lidded look of total surrender that he had worked for painted across her face and he had to admit, even to himself she was a sight, standing there in nothing but those boots, her hips working hard against his hand as she searched for relief from the tension he’d created. There was never any question of when it happened, Isabela was not shy. Throwing her head back on his shoulder she very nearly shouted “Yes!” She arched as far as she could, her backside pressed into him so hard that he could feel her tailbone and he hissed into her neck at the sweet pain it caused him. As she rode the waves of pleasure, her legs threatened to buckle under her and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her back against him to hold her up. And all the while the walls of her most personal spaces were clenching tight against his fingers.

When finally she fell boneless against him, he smiled down at her and she looked back at him through half-lidded eyes, reaching down to catch his wrist as he pulled his hand from her and bringing it to her mouth. Running her tongue along his fingers, she silently cleaned herself from them, watching him the whole while. He let her see just how much that further aroused him, watching as she seemed to take on an aura that was very much that of a cat that had just been given a bowl of cream. He watched her for a few moments and thought to himself that he almost regretted what he was about to do to her – almost.

Pushing her from him abruptly, he caught her shoulders and whirled her around to face him before she could catch up to what was happening. Fast as a cat, he had a hand around her throat and he pushed her roughly against the table, knocking chairs out of the way as he did. Lifting her and setting her on the edge he snagged both her hands as they went for her boots, knowing only too well she had to have daggers hidden in there. Pushing them behind her back he locked them both in the vice grip of one hand and burying the other in her hair, he yanked her head back until her throat was exposed to him. Smiling he swooped in and bit down, not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough she would have a lasting reminder of what he was about to say.

“You want to know about the Tome of Koslun do you?” he asked mockingly, watching as she tried to take in this abrupt change. “You wish to _question_ me? Then you had best be aware that I do not explain myself to _anyone_. Not even the Grand Master of the Crows questions me because he knows I get results and I frankly will _not_ be second guessed. But,” He paused to release her hair and run his fingers down her neck, then her shoulder and finally catching her breast in his hand, working the nipple between his fingers until it hardened despite the fear he could see in her eye. When he finished his thought he let his voice go from acid to softness, smooth as the finest Orlesian silks. “For you- I will make an exception because you are such a creation that the Maker must have broken the mold.”

When he reached between them, pulling at the laces that held his loose breeches to him it suddenly dawned on Isabela exactly what was about to happen and she started to struggle. She _is_ a handful Fantin mused as he quickly freed himself and subdued her by yanking her forward and thrusting himself into her in one fluid motion. That gave her pause but soon she was cursing and wiggling again. Despite what she might have expected, he was not brutal with her once he was inside her; instead he settled himself into a slow rhythm as he tightly held her, one hand buried in her hair to hold her head in place as he lightly ran his tongue up her neck until he had reached her ear.

“You see it was me that hung that ‘stone’ as you put it around your neck,” he whispered, voice thick with the pleasure of what he was doing. “I was there that night they dragged you from the ship, cursing and kicking even if you were bound and hooded, naked and abused because Castillon’s men discovered the hard way you hid sharp things in the most interesting places. Castillon would have had you killed and I would have agreed with him but for one thing - you had spirit. I like that. And I needed a distraction in Orlais at the time, something that would keep attention away from what I needed done and I could think of nothing that would cause such a stir but the attempted theft of the Qunari’s precious book. And that was what I thought it would be - an _attempt_. I didn’t think you would actually pull it off because nothing in your checkered past left me thinking you more than a garden variety ship’s figurehead, even if you were truthfully lovely to behold. I was unhappy at the thought I might have to throw away a Crow to this because I thought anyone doing it would be lucky to get away with their skin intact, but you surprised me.”

Feeling the tension in his belly start to harden, he strengthened his thrusts and smiled into her hair. “And it was me that set Castillon after you, hunting you and that book. That you succeeded, while unexpected had advantage. _I_ wanted the Tome. You see Castillon is _my_ creature, Isabela, even if I am fond of him. _I_ pull his strings and you have spent so many years fearing a man who, after you survived the whole episode, felt _guilty_.   By all rights, he should have hunted you down after you humiliated him in Kirkwall and stole away his prize ship but he stayed his hand out of guilt. _I_ am the one who ruined you because in the end _I_ pull your stings as well. I use people, it is my nature and I am unashamed of it, just as I am unashamed of using you now.” Falling silent he concentrated on driving himself into her, ignoring how she had stopped protesting and was instead silent and still against him. Right now all that mattered to him was completing the task he had set before himself and to his mind even now it was a pleasant one indeed. When finally he buried himself as deeply as he could he turned his face into her ear and groaned, letting her hear just how much he enjoyed the use of her as he emptied himself.

Once he had regained himself he pulled back to look at her. To her credit though her eyes were bright with tears she had not shed even one and instead glared at him. Looking at her compassionately because he indeed had compassion for this proud and brazen creature that he knew he had just wounded, he pressed his lips gently to her forehead. It was, he knew, for her own good and she was resilient, she would come back from this stronger for it.

“You will do good to remember that,” he finally remarked as he pulled himself from her, releasing her hands as he did. “I am a beast you never want to provoke because if I take notice of you, you _will_ live to regret it.”

He saw the blow coming but didn’t block it, allowing her to slap him resoundingly. He knew something inside her needed to show her contempt, for him _and_ what he had done, both then and now. Pushing at his stinging cheek with his tongue, he wasn’t entirely surprised when he tasted blood, and looking at her as she sat with a look of fear and hatred warring across her face he smiled winningly at her before pulling his pants back up and tying the lace securely. Before she could react he stepped up to her and catching her head he slanted his lips over hers in a harsh kiss before pushing her roughly away and leaving her there, not looking back as he unlocked the door and quietly closed it behind him.

* * *

Klaton stood in the shadows when the Crow Master left her cabin. He had been unable to sleep and when he found the deck unguarded had gone to find the crewman he had left responsible, completely incredulous that his orders had been ignored. After rudely awakening him with a solid crack to his sleeping head, the man had taken one look at Klaton’s dark look and begged, saying that Isabela had relieved him, ordered him to his bed because _she_ wanted to stand watch. Blinking as the thundercloud of anger quickly dissipated, replaced with confusion because Klaton knew Isabela would not leave the ship defenseless, the crewman sighed with relief as Klaton stalked off and decided he didn’t want to know what was going on. It wasn’t until his second trip to the deck that he had noticed the figure standing on the dock at the end of the gangway but before he had a chance to step forward to question him, Fantin had come from Isabela’s room. Something about the predatory look on the man’s face made him step further into the shadows that pooled around crates lashed to the deck. If the Crow noticed him he gave no indication, instead he spat on the deck and made for the figure waiting for him. The figure handed him a cloak and with that they both disappeared into the dark.

Looking from the gangway to Isabela’s room and then back, Klaton’s eyebrows drew together and before he could actually consider the consequences that might greet him, he made for her door. She was curled in a small ball on the floor where she had fallen after trying to stand, her shaking legs simply refused to comply. Hugging her legs to her chest, her face buried in the knees, naked as the day she was born but for her boots, Klaton pulled short at the sight she made. She didn’t know he was there he knew, and he knew she would not thank him for what he was about to do but her ire or forgiveness had never slowed him before. Closing the door he walked around her, ignoring the hateful look she shot at him when she realized it was not Fantin returned to do more. He had not missed the fear in her eye as she had looked up and he suddenly found himself staring down at her bunk, doing his best to squash the anger he felt. It was impotent he knew, he would never be a match for Master Fantin and being angry with her for her nature was as useless as cursing the Maker for abandoning his creation. Stamping it down so that he could do what needed done, he yanked the blanket from the bunk and stalked over to where she huddled, staring at him.

She protested, snarling at him and slapping his hand away, ordering him from the room in a voice that held not authority but instead outrage. He ignored her and slid the blanket around her shoulders, knowing she needed that anger to see her through whatever it was she was feeling right now. Silently he sat next to her on the floor, back leaned against the leg of the table, knowing it wouldn’t move behind him because it was nailed to the floor and staring at some point on the open cupboard across from them. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her reflection and knew she was watching him warily, like he would treat her the way Fantin obviously had. He ignored it, simply sitting there silent as stone and making no moves and eventually she turned to look away from him, suddenly ashamed that he was seeing her like this. How long they sat like that he didn’t know, didn’t care to know. Finally, he sighed.

“Isabela…”

“No,” she stated flatly.

Turning his head to look at her he reached out and laid his hand over the hand that was clutching the blanket tight to her chest, ignoring when she flinched.

“Yes.”

She looked at him then, directly in the eye and he could see just how hurt she really was reflected in her eyes.

“Are you…” He struggled a moment and finally settled on, “Wounded?”

She shook her head, then stopped and looked at him again.

“Just my pride.”

He nodded, knowing she was coming out of it, whatever ‘it’ had been.

“Is he likely to return?”

She shook her head and laid her forehead to her knees.

“I think he… said what he wanted. I don’t think he will even notice I exist now.”

Nothing she could have said angered him so much as that and when he didn’t speak she looked up at him and saw it before he could wrangle it down. Eyes wide, she let go of the blanket, ignoring how it slid down off her shoulder and grasped at his hand. Meeting his eye she shook her head emphatically, not quite capable of saying to this proud and compassionate man that Fantin would easily kill him but he knew it anyway. Suddenly she tried to stand but her shaking limbs were still defying her and she stood unsteady, leaned against the table, one hand pressed to its surface and staring at the wood under her fingers. Klaton found his feet as well, pulling the blanket that was falling off her back around her shoulders and wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her towards her bunk. Looking up at him, she tried her best to use a haughty tone but knew it fell flat.

“I think I want a new table.”

He nodded, not questioning where that came from because he was sure he didn’t want to know and instead let her fall down to her bed.

“I’ll see to it.”

Without asking permission because almost assuredly the answer would be no, he took her foot and pulled at her boot until it finally came loose, silently repeating the same for the other. Isabela wiggled her toes, thinking to herself that they were about the only part of her that didn’t have the feel of that man on them and a slightly hysterical sounding laugh escaped her. Slapping a hand to her mouth when Klaton looked at her sharply she just shook her head and laid down. As Klaton pulled more covers over her she clutched at his hand, suddenly afraid he might leave her alone.

“Please…”

Klaton looked down at her and understood. Sitting leaned against the wall next to her on her wide bunk he let her hang onto his hand as she rolled away from him, holding it to her chest. He could feel her still trembling heart beating under it and without thinking he reached out and absently stroked at her hair, watching over her long after she finally stopped shaking and fell asleep. His heart ached for her, far more than it should have he knew and understood that was his own failing. Isabela would never thank him, would never return his feelings for her but there they were and because of them he would happily follow wherever she led him. Even it would seem, into a hell of her own making.

*Daydreamer by Adele

* * *

As hard as Klaton had tried to keep his worry from the crew spending vast amounts of time on what is in the grand scheme of things a tiny island in the middle of a large ocean with a small crew meant that little tended to go unnoticed. He could tell they were uneasy because he was uneasy and it probably hadn’t taken much for them to connect his unrest with her lack of appearance. It had been two days since she had sent for the Crow. He still did not know precisely what she had been looking to learn but what she had found was obviously far more than she had bargained for. After leaving her sleeping he had followed his instinct and left her alone, only approaching her door to make sure she had food if she chose to eat. That she had even though she ignored his presence he took as a good sign.

When Varric showed up Klaton had intercepted him, feeding him a story that the dwarf obviously did not believe about her feeling unwell. When he had looked like he would argue, Klaton had asked a favor of the short man and pulling a purse from one of his pockets, pushed it on him.

“She wants a new table for her quarters,” he’d told him. “I have no idea where to find such things in Kirkwall.”

Varric had eyed Klaton, seeing that lie for what it was as well but had for some reason chosen not to pursue it. Instead he had left on the errand and Klaton had heaved a sigh. At least she would be getting her new table because he had decided he wasn’t leaving the ship and he wasn’t entirely trusting of what sort of thing his crew might choose if he sent them.

It was late in the afternoon of that same day when Isabela finally appeared on deck. Her demeanor had been at best subdued as she walked the rail of the forecastle and the crew noticed. The captain they knew was rarely that way and when she was there were usually things brewing so they gave her a wide berth, looking to him to deal with it. So he watched her, trying not to hover because she wouldn’t appreciate it, but keeping her in sight. She had several times stopped to lean on the rail, each time she had looked pensive but still she kept to herself.

When several hours later men had arrived lugging behind them a huge crate and looking dubiously at the gangplank, she was finally pulled from her reverie. Appearing next to Klaton as he accepted the delivery and assured the men responsible that they could take it from there, Isabela silently inspected the name of the shop, branded neatly into the wood of the crate. It was not, he mused, a shop he recognized because he hadn’t been entirely dishonest with Varric. When you sailed the better portion of the known world you tended to pay little attention to those kinds of things. One shop was as good as any other. She however had cocked an eyebrow at the name and stood to the side while Klaton oversaw the logistics of getting it on the ship.

Once it was on the deck she stood quietly, watching as they struggled with the nails holding the crate together until finally they stood looking at a vaguely round shape covered in layers of burlap to protect the finish during delivery. Nodding at the men they started yanking them all away and what stood before them left Klaton gaping. What Varric had chosen was a large, oval table of burnished mahogany, the four legs ornately carved and curved inward with a small shelf set at the apex of their arch before splaying back out until they reached the floor. On the top some obscure craftsman had painstakingly carved an ivy laurel all around the edges, the same ivy he saw that ran swirled around the legs. It was unmistakably Antivan, unmistakably expensive and Klaton cringed. He had meant for Varric to replace the worn table with something similar – simple, functional and solid. Instead he had….

“Hope you like it,” Varric drew their attention to him as he topped the gangplank. He had for all intents and purposes arrived soon after they had wrangled the heavy crate onto the ship but had very deliberately kept out of sight until he knew they had unpacked it and now stood watching as everyone looked at him wide-eyed. “I considered something Orlesian but the gilt I thought too much.”

Everyone but Isabela. She stepped forward to run her hand along the smooth surface and walked all the way around it twice admiring the way light of the setting sun shone in the polished wood and highlighted the carved inlay. It was elegant in a simple way that kept it functional, sturdy and lasting for all its pretense at frivolity. Finally she looked at Varric a moment, knowing that she was somehow being used to make a statement but deciding she didn’t mind. When Klaton, standing embarrassed looked to say something she held up a hand and silenced him.

“I like it,” she finally announced and threw back her head laughing when she saw Klaton’s startled blink.

“Good,” Varric smirked.

“I think I will need new chairs to match though.”

“Already on it,” Varric replied promptly as he tossed a substantially lighter purse back to Klaton. “They are being upholstered and should be delivered tomorrow. I picked a color that should hide stains and paid well so they won’t skimp on the stuffing.”

“Well,” Klaton looked at her as she nodded, a smile still resting across her face, even in her eyes which he was gratified to see. “I guess we should see about getting the old one out now shouldn’t we?”

Looking at her first, her mouth bowed around some private thought, she held up her hand to pause him as she turned to study her vague reflection in the new tabletop.

“Do your best not to harm it while you pry it from the deck,” she ordered distractedly.

Klaton stopped to consider the scarred and stained rough-hewn table of his memory and looked at her oddly.

“Why?”

* * *

Fantin glanced up when Vicenzo entered his room but did a double take at the peculiar look he had.

“What?”

“You have received a delivery.”

Fantin blinked, wondering what in that made Vicenzo look so nonplussed.

“And?”

Vicenzo didn’t respond, simply held out his hand, silently requesting that Fantin precede him through the door. Sighing, Fantin decided to humor him and walking out onto the landing he looked down to the large foyer and blinked. Down among the many still cracked and missing flagstones were several roughly dressed men looking about in confusion and at their lead was a man Fantin recognized. He was he knew Isabela’s first, the one who had stood to the fringes of the ‘party’ at Castillon’s mansion in Antiva. At first Fantin’s eyebrow crept up as he regarded them in the gloom caused by windows gone far too long without cleaning but as he made to the stairs it suddenly dawned on him just what it was that that Klaton was leaning against. Blinking several times as he descended, he regarded the Orlesian sailor in silence. Stepping away from the table that Isabela had wanted removed after this Crow’s… visit, Klaton bowed formally.

“A gift messere,” Klaton kept his voice deliberately light even though what he wanted to do was run this man through and he was sure Fantin well knew it. “Isabela bid me to wish that you have plenty of opportunity to use it.”

Fantin glanced from Klaton to the table and suddenly threw back his head, his laughter filling the empty spaces of the dilapidated room. That was enough for Klaton, he turned smartly and without looking back he left with his back straight and his jaw clenched, his men following quickly behind. When Fantin finally fell to chuckles and stood running his hand along the coarse surface Vicenzo, confused but used to often not completely understanding things that went on in Fantin’s orbit asked what should be done with it.

“Oh by all means,” Fantin smiled widely, “Have it put it in my room.”


	48. Chapter 48

Fenris had never seen the inside of the Knight-Commander’s offices and he sat in the outer office regarding the tranquil mage that sat behind the desk thoughtfully. If she noticed his scrutiny she gave no indication, simply continued to copy something from one parchment to another carefully, the strokes of her quill very precise. If Fenris didn’t know better he would think she viewed that quill as a weapon and mused that perhaps it was.

When an apprentice mage had come to the door, quietly relaying that Cullen wished to speak with him, Fenris admitted surprise to Hawke, and ignorance. He had no idea why Cullen would wish to speak to him specifically. Curiosity piqued, he had followed the mage and upon arriving a woman politely introducing herself as Elsa asked him to please make himself comfortable, that it would be a few more minutes.

Studying the woman he could see why the tranquil made mages nervous as Hawke had told him. She was… driven that was for sure, and her speech though technically perfect lacked any inflection. Hawke had  been kind when she had described it emotionless, to Fenris it seemed like a dead thing, something dusty and broken that would have been put aside long ago but for habit. But to say that her magic was dead was he knew wrong. His lyrium sensed it, weakened and muffled but there. Her connection to the Fade might be damaged but it still very much existed.

Danarius had once stated unequivocally to one of his many hangers on that he viewed the neutering of a mage’s talent barbaric and maybe he was right. Far fewer mages in Tevinter fell to demons simply because of weakness and those that did were quickly contained because that was the purpose of the apprentice system and the reason each magister was only allowed one apprentice. It was their duty to train, and their duty to subdue. If they failed at either, then they were in fact not worthy to be a magister to begin with. Maybe it was a failure of the Circle that so many were tranquil. Or maybe it was a strength in the Tevinter habit of marrying like to like. Or maybe it was as Hawke said – Templars gone arrogant with their power creating a legion of compliant tranquil simply because they could. Elsa didn’t seem to care either way.

He was broken from his broodings when Hassrath was shown into the room. Although Qunari trained their fighting men to be eternally stoic, Fenris could see that he was surprised to see him and a little wary of being summoned by the leader of the Kirkwall Templars. Elsa had nodded politely to him at his arrival and without saying a thing, disappeared into Cullen’s office. Neither man said anything since it was obvious to both that it would serve no purpose and Fenris politely stood. It was probably a good thing that Hassrath was used to standing because most chairs were simply too short for him. When Elsa returned she silently ushered them through the door and quietly shut it behind them.

Cullen stood with is back to them, for once not in full armor. He was studying the courtyard, lost in his own thoughts for a few moments. With the return of the sun, temperatures had risen, though not appreciably. It was enough however to melt away at the snow and now only vestiges of it lingered in those places too shaded for the sun to burn. The courtyard was quiet, the cold keeping those that had no reason to be out indoors and those forced into it for whatever reason huddled inside cloaks to keep warm. He could hear them behind him, waiting patiently, and he sighed.

“I have no idea what possessed the two of you to decide to beat the piss out of each other in the middle of the night,” he started without turning, “And I don’t particularly care either. That is between the two of you. But it pointed out to me something I would very much like to correct.”

Fenris glanced up at Hassrath and noted that the kossith’s brow, at first creased in confusion had smoothed out and a dark look had settled on his face. When Cullen turned to regard them, Fenris deliberately met his eye with a cocked eyebrow but kept his silence. It had been long enough that Fenris didn’t understand why it was it was being brought up. He had half expected some sort of censure from the Knight-Commander but when it hadn’t come he had just put it out of his mind. Cullen turned his own stoic expression to Hassrath, not the least intimidated by the larger man.

“All the men and women inside these walls that wear the Templar heraldry have been tested. The order demands it and I see to it but beyond even that they have been hardened by experience. A great many of my knights were here for your Arishok’s attempt on the city, for Meredith’s fall from grace if that indeed is what it was. They have seen what abominations can do and have seen what magic turned loose can do. They have even seen what your Qunari are capable of. But thanks to having helped Prince Sebastian with the rebuilding of Starkhaven I was forced to send a large portion of my Knights there and those that replaced them were refugees from the Templar rebellion. Those men were also tested – mightily, but not so that it will help us now.”

Cullen sighed and sat at his desk and leaned back with his hands folded across his stomach as he regarded the two silent men before him. They could not be more different, the elf looking almost delicate next to the heavy and robust form of the kossith but he suspected that was where the differences ended for all intents and purposes.

“Also a great many of those in my charge are not Knights, some may never attain that distinction but still we will need them. And it was on their faces that night that I saw fear.” He paused to look at Fenris. “My men know me, know that in order for you to have confounded my best efforts you are indeed skilled. And there has been no end of talk of the unusual style you use to fight. To see you equally confounded by this man, to see the sheer punishment you endured at his hand… it frightened them. There is a nervousness inside their ranks that I do not care for. So,” he looked at Hassrath again pointedly, “I would ask you to do my Templars a service.”

Hassrath cocked his head, the dark look on his face not wavering.

“You wish him to teach your Templars?” Fenris asked quietly.

“I would ask you both to _train_ them. To prepare them for what they will undoubtedly face,” Cullen responded promptly.

“I am no teacher,” Hassrath grunted.

“You don’t have to be.”

 Hassrath was silent, staring at the floor when his first instinct was to leave. It was true, he was no teacher and something in what the Knight-Commander asked seemed wrong to him. He may have turned his back on the Qun but that did not mean he wished to actively participate in their demise. ‘But if you do not,’ something inside him spoke up, ‘then you court your _own_ demise. They will have no problem with cutting you down, cutting Maraas down. Tal-Vashoth have nothing to redeem in their eyes.’ Hassrath sighed at the truth in that.

He looked at the Knight-Commander, a man he did not know, whose honor he did not know. This basvaraad had dedicated his life to mages, as much to their defense as to their enslavement behind walls of stone if what he had been told was correct – but what did that mean? He did not know and was not sure he really wanted to because magic was something that made his insides clench. The Qun believed magic a bridge for the malcontent spirits of the Fade, taught that ultimately mages had but an illusion of control over it and that control must be enforced upon them in any fashion necessary, including unspeakable brutality. He didn’t see that here – control perhaps, but the leash these basvaraad used was a gentle one, the threat of brutality a quiet thing whispered in silent observation and polite distances. That it seemed to work was beyond him and made him wonder.

And there it was - that slippery slope. Once you began to question it all descended to chaos because one question led to another and to another and soon you were left with something that horrified him – uncertainty and the comfort of _knowing_ now gone forever. But in the darkest reaches of his soul, those places he only visited in the silence of the night, something inside him refused to embrace the chaos around him, holding tight to the order within himself tested though it was. Honor was something valued by Qunari because personal honor was an honor to the Qun which gave it birth and it was to that Hassrath clung as a ward against the chaos, not caring _what_ it honored. He shifted his stoic gaze to Fenris, someone he had learned, for all his differences, held honor as close to his heart as he did. For Hassrath it was a shield, but he knew for Fenris it was a sword - something he wielded against demons that Hassrath could never hope to understand.

Fenris could not read anything in the kossith’s face, his thoughts hidden behind a wall of what he had come to understand was a forced stoicism and that of itself told him that Hassrath was torn. Fenris might not have entirely understood it but he understood Hassrath wanted his opinion. He shrugged, ticking his head in Cullen’s direction.

“There is nothing wrong in it,” Fenris finally told Hassrath in a low tone. “I may not always agree with him or his methods but I cannot fault him concern for those under his charge, mage or Templar. And he is right - fear has killed more than its fair share of capable fighters.”

Hassrath nodded. This he understood.

“That he asks politely is to his credit,” Hassrath replied.

“When asking Tal-Vashoth,” Fenris replied with wry amusement, “Is there any other way?”

Hassrath snorted his laughter and turned a look to the Knight-Commander.

“I will do it. But your men had best be prepared because I know no other way to teach than that by which I was taught and that,” he paused thoughtfully, “Will mean pain.”

Cullen eyed the larger man a moment before responding. If the kossith was seeking to make him blink, he would find himself a failure.

“If they are not prepared to feel pain then they need not be Templars.”

Hassrath nodded, still uncomfortable with this role that was being thrust upon him but willing to take the word of the elf.

“Tomorrow,” he replied in a tone clipped even for him. “Sunrise. Bring me your twenty best. I will teach them. They can teach the rest.”

Cullen nodded before looking at Fenris.

“And you?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this if you offered me the Archon,” Fenris chuckled because he understood pain, it was a friend that reminded him he still breathed and he wondered at the real introduction of it to men not nearly so steeled. “I’ll be there.”

Cullen sighed and stood.

“My thanks in advance,” he pronounced, “And the thanks of the Templars as well.”

“We shall see,” Hassrath grunted before turning to leave. “We shall see.”

* * *

Hassrath and Fenris sat on the ground, both men ignoring the benches scattered throughout the arena. Fenris looked about him, not once questioning the use this space had once served because he had seen its twin in Tevinter. When it was quiet like this he could almost swear that the wood and stone had absorbed the misery, the anguish and often brutality of the slaves it had once penned. It touched things in Fenris that made him want to stand taller for having survived, weep for those who had not and cringe at the reminder that evil had _always_ existed in the world. That it was a holy order that attempted to sweep away these ghosts by instilling ghosts of their own was not lost on him.

Next to him, Hassrath sat with a waterskin at his side but it was from a bottle of wine in his hand that he pulled. Fenris had found that the Templars had on hand some fairly interesting vintages, some not half bad for all that they were probably local and had politely requested some bottles. A celebration, he told Hassrath, for his new role. Hassrath had regarded him with a look that spoke volumes but at the end of the day he had not refused. He was bleeding from more than a few cuts, some shallower than others that the Templars had managed to get in but Fenris knew that today hadn’t been about teaching tactics or styles, or even about showing off. It had been about teaching _respect_.

Hassrath had one after the other taken on the best Cullen had to throw before him and had pounded each to submission. When the older knights who were tasked with the Templar’s martial education had questioned the reason behind such brutality Hassrath had replied simply that they could expect no less and should in fact expect more from a Qunari warrior in battle. Better to understand _that_ from the outset. He had sent more than a few of them to the healers and when Cullen appeared to watch, he silently dared him. But Cullen had not interfered, had in fact simply watched with an expression that disapproved of nothing he was seeing.

“You should probably see to those, you know,” Fenris pointed out offhandedly as he took a long pull from his own bottle, suppressing a smile when the kossith simply grunted.

“Scars are an honor, one that shows valor.” Hassrath turned to look at Fenris. “At least that is what I was taught. I have come to question that.”

“What?” Fenris let the bottle drop to his lap and regarded Hassrath as he stared at his own. “That scars are an honor or that they show valor?”

“Both.”

 “Scars are proof that you _survived_. That is enough for me,” Fenris sighed. “If someone else wants to read into them honor or valor they can do so as they please.”

“But is survival enough?” Hassrath asked quietly. “Is the fact that you are still standing at the end of the day reason enough to take up the sword the next?”

“Probably not,” Fenris admitted. “If you are looking to me for deeper truths Hassrath, I don’t have them. Believe me when I say I wish that I did. It is hard to believe in a Maker that would turn his back on the many for the arrogance of a few. It is harder still for me to embrace a world that has shown me little pity. At the end of the day there are but two things I believe in unconditionally – I believe in me and I believe in Hawke. That is enough. She is above all else the reason I take up the sword in the morning.”

Hassrath met his friend’s eye and nodded. He could understand that and maybe Fenris was right. Maybe that _was_ enough. The Qun in him struggled against it, but he was no longer of the Qun he reminded himself and owed the Qun no loyalty because they would insist they owed none to him. He was their definition of chaos – an unbeliever made tragically more so because he _did_ believe but questioned all the same.

“Nothing is simple is it?”

Fenris chuckled at that, taking a sip from his bottle as he watched initiates sweeping bloodstained sand into buckets to be replaced with fresh.

“Simplicity is a lie my friend. It comes with a price, one way too dear. True simplicity means you have nothing, think nothing, feel nothing – _are_ nothing. You are a ghost. I spent a great many years like that, or as close as you are likely to get. Better things are complicated because then you have reason enough to live, even if it is _only_ to see the sun rise and vex those who wished you dead in the night. That is after all the ultimate revenge.”

Hassrath stared at his friend a moment, turning that over in his head before reaching out and clouting him roughly on the shoulder and laughing.

“And you say you have no truths. I think you deeper than you wish to admit!”

Wincing as he rubbed his shoulder, Fenris sighed.

* * *

Maraas sighed happily and glanced around the modest room she was sharing with Hassrath. She had spent her day in the company of the prince, sitting in the one public library that was hidden on the first floor of the Gallows. This library housed things the Chantry and Templars saw as innocuous, such as histories, fictions, instructional treaties on everything from sewing a shirt to sewing a wound, and Maraas had looked about her amazed. Books were not uncommon in the Qun but they were limited in their scope to those things that reinforced the teachings of the Qun or to further knowledge in one’s craft. To see such a wealth of ideas literally surrounding her… well she was sure her expression had betrayed her because Sebastian had simply chuckled and watched as she had fluttered from case to case. Curiosity had always been her greatest flaw and here it overwhelmed her.

The Qun viewed itself as organic - a collective in which its individual members strove for the empowerment of the whole and to do that one constantly strove to better one’s self. While curiosity wasn’t strictly discouraged it was viewed as something distracting when it didn’t strictly concern one’s role. If it became too be distracting then members were encouraged to the best of their abilities to purge themselves by satisfying it and if that was not possible they were then gently urged to put it aside. Priests would do their best to help, offering whatever help they could in both endeavors. More often than not with Maraas as she had grown into her role they had urged her to meditate, look inside to understand the reasons she viewed the world as she did. And slowly she had learned to put such things aside, to focus on her place inside the Qun and not question those things around her except in the simplest ways. Her liberation from the Qun and introduction into this world of chaos had strained those tenuous bonds, and every patient answer to her shy questions had encouraged her.

Sebastian had helped her settle herself, to stop flitting from title to title insatiate and incapable of focus. The rest of their outing became an exercise in him explaining to her his society in much the same way he had been asking her to explain hers. Even in this environment of openness her training in the Qun had very often stilled her tongue except for simple things, had urged her to honest answers to questions put to her but not to volunteer beyond it. This simple visit to a library, the honest joy in Sebastian’s eye at her reaction had destroyed those carefully trained restraints completely. He had only been able to remove her from the library, several books in hand with the promise that she could avail herself of its treasures at any time she chose, another wonder in itself.

Now she was curled on the hard couch which was only just tall enough for her reading by the light of lanterns that hung strategically from the walls. She had just sat the book aside when the door opened and she found herself gaping at Hassrath. He hadn’t told her where he was going, just that he was going with Fenris and after the last time those two had disappeared together she supposed she should have expected it. This time he hadn’t been to see a healer though, having simply cleaned himself and the wounds. His hair was still wet and the bath had obviously loosened some of the scabs because she could see fresh blood at their edges. And the bruises! Internally she winced because she knew very well that he would be feeling this outing of his for days but she showed nothing of it to him. Instead she watched as he leaned his sword next to the bed and sat, the tilt of his shoulders speaking to her his weariness. Finally her disapproving stare must have gotten the better of him because he shot her a look before finally speaking.

“Do not question me,” he growled irritably. “These are fairly earned. I was asked to teach the basvaraad.”

Maraas’s eyebrows rose but she didn’t say anything. Instead she watched as the blood around one wound, one that looked to be deeper than the others began to weep away from the nebulous scab and slowly run down his shoulder. Sighing she pulled out a linen kerchief from a small dresser and sitting next to him pressed it to the wound. He hadn’t noticed it had begun to bleed again and hissed at the unexpected pain but submitted when she shot him a look that clearly said she wasn’t going to argue this.

“You look to be on the shorter end of it,” she commented lightly.

“You,” Hassrath grunted with wry amusement, “Have not seen them. I think half will not be back tomorrow.”

She didn’t see anything particularly funny in that so made no comment on it.

“You should see a healer.”

“Healers here are mages,” he returned promptly, “And they need to know that Qunari ignore such things.”

Maraas sighed, realizing he was right. She briefly considered sending for Hawke but decided against it. If this was the path he had determined on then she should not question it. Instead she took his hand and held it to the kerchief and went to door. Closing it behind her she asked the guards to take her to a healer.

Hassrath didn’t question where she had gone, he knew her well enough that he expected to see a healer of some stripe return with her, but when she returned alone he eyed the leather bag she brought with her. When she sat it on the dresser and began pulling jars and bandages from it, he looked at her questioningly. She was no healer but she had learned something of the art after a Fog Warrior raid on the camp she had been sent to be reeducated. A great many had been injured by the fires and the only healer in the camp had been taxed so she had volunteered to help him. If there was one thing both encouraged and expected in the Qun, it was a commitment to community and doing whatever it was that was in its best interests, even things beyond one’s role when necessary. The healer had not refused her even given her status and neither had the priests that were tasked with the reeducation of those in the camp. She had been given unprecedented freedom and had spent weeks compassionately seeing to the wounds of the injured, a great many dying from their burns or the infections that set in. Though the Qun taught that there was nothing in death to fear she had seen it in their eyes and the experience haunted her still.

Sighing, she steeled herself against those memories and took up one of the jars the healer had given her after carefully labeling each with curt instructions on their use. Turning she shot a look at Hassrath that she hoped conveyed both confidence and her determination to see this through. Hassrath’s own expression did not change, hovering somewhere between surprise and something that looked suspiciously like pride. She didn’t pause to consider that, instead she pulled the kerchief away and seeing that the bleeding had stopped at some point during her absence she began covering the wound with a heavy layer of the oily salve. He made no comment, instead looking away and ignoring the itchy sting as the stuff began soaking in and let her have her way. Carefully, she worked her way from wound to wound, some she bound but most she didn’t and she knew that a great many of them would probably reopen when he returned to this new duty he had taken up. This would, she mused, become a ritual until they healed enough to resist bold movement.

 The bruises she gently rubbed with a pungent but not completely unpleasant smelling concoction from another jar. When she ended up kneeling between his knees to rub at a large bruise he had earned from not paying close attention to a Templar’s shield, he sighed and watched her as she worked, the thick salve at first stubborn until it was warmed by the combined heat of her hand and his chest. At first she didn’t seem to notice his scrutiny but eventually she had glanced up. What she saw he wasn’t sure because he wasn’t entirely sure he knew what it was he felt but he knew it surprised her. She had never been good at keeping her thoughts off her face when caught unaware.  Without thinking about it he reached out and ran the edge of his calloused thumb along her jaw, careful with the thickened nails that most kossith warriors did not bother clipping, sharpening them instead. She looked delicate to him at that moment, like one of the flowers her hair still smelled of and he sighed heavily. Dropping his hands lightly on her shoulders he pulled her to her feet as he stood himself.

He had, she saw, shuttered himself. Just that fast he had hidden himself behind the cloak of inscrutability that all Qunari fighters, regardless of their stripe were taught. But she knew him, down to the tiniest minutia and could see it for what it was – he was trying to protect her. Kirkwall had challenged him far harder than anything since leaving the camp, had in fact challenged them both but he was the one having far more trouble with it. She regarded him with nothing but understanding but she knew for some reason he wasn’t going to talk to her about it. He wanted to struggle through this on his own and she had to respect it because it was his way. He would come to her when he was ready, if he ever was and that was enough.

Silently he turned away, kicking away his boots without caring where they landed and stripping out of the heavy leathers he wore before crawling under the covers. He watched wearily a moment as she stood staring down at his sword inside its sheath next to the bed, running a light finger along the ornate quillon. Before he could fall to the exhaustion that was pulling him to sleep, she suddenly sat next to him and regarded him a moment thoughtfully before speaking.

“Will you teach me its care?”

Hassrath regarded her in silence for a long time before answering, his eyes betraying him in his surprise. She didn’t waver though, simply regarded him with nothing but a desire for him to understand just how much she valued and cared for him. If a simple embrace was a public acknowledgement of affection, this was one far more private. To commit oneself to the keep of someone else’s tools was to commit oneself to that person’s life and soul because the Qun considered those tools representative of the soul. To lose them or allow them irreparable damage branded their owner soulless and their life forfeit. To entrust another with the care of your soul was something that was not done lightly, not contemplated without the utmost faith any more or less than was taking on the responsibility and he regarded her carefully for several long moments before nodding wordlessly. When she smiled, pleased that he had accepted, he rolled away to his side to keep her from seeing what he knew himself incapable of hiding – that she had just burned him to the core. She didn’t see his turning his back to her as a slight, didn’t even suspect the riot of things she’d turned loose inside him. Instead of leaving, she leaned against the headboard and gently stroked at his still damp hair and without knowing it was her hand that finally relaxed him and allowed his fatigue to claim him completely.

* * *

“Qunari warriors do not use daggers in combat. They view them as the weapons of someone without honor because they are easily hidden,” Fenris told those of the Templars who had returned for a second day of abuse. Much to their surprise it was not Hassrath who was talking to them, he instead stood to the side, arms crossed and proudly still sporting all the various wounds that they had managed to land on him before falling victim to his powerful attacks. “They do however have no problem with dual wielding. Sometimes that might mean two standardly sized swords, sometime that might mean a pike and an axe. It can be any combination of weaponry. I have seen them pick up a weapon from a fallen comrade and use both.”

“That,” Hassrath interjected in his gravelly voice, “Is because all Qunari warriors are taught to fight with both hands and are expected to master the art. Some never do, but it is something they will spend a lifetime working towards. Some have a talent for it, most do not and will wield weapons with a preferred hand. But do not assume that the Qunari before you can’t switch hands or as he says, take up another weapon. In fact you are best served to expect it.”

“Have you mastered both hands?” one Templar asked, one that Fenris remembered had walked to the circle with an air of arrogance the day before and had probably given Hassrath the closest to an actual fight of the whole lot. Fenris recognized the type - talented and young, not having had time to temper that pride. When he saw Hassrath suddenly turn and grab at two swords from a weapon rack next to where he stood, Fenris stepped out of the way. He wasn’t too surprised when Hassrath advanced on the young knight and was amused when his fellows scattered away leaving him to draw his weapon and face the consequences of not moderating his tone, a great many of the more experienced of them shaking their head at his audacity. After a few minutes of retreating under an onslaught of hits he was hard pressed to block and that left his shield with a few new dents, the Templar begged Hassrath to allow him to yield. Standing before him, looking down his nose at him like the irritant that Hassrath was coming to view him as, he finally lowered the swords.

“What are you called, basvaraad?”

“Truss,” the man responded shakily.

“Truss,” Hassrath replied, putting all the contempt he was feeling in that one word. “Do not expect quarter to be given in battle. Qunari will assume you were given that weapon for a reason and will treat you accordingly.” Pausing to lean forward until Truss’s eyes widened he finished mildly, “And there will be no yielding. Qunari do not understand the concept because one does not enter into a fight unless one is prepared to die. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Truss nodded emphatically and Hassrath grunted, standing straight to look over him at the rest of the men he was charged with teaching.

“Do you all understand what I am saying?”

A resounding chorus in the affirmative made him sigh, turning away to put the weapons he had commandeered back in their place. Somehow he didn’t think they did, but they would. Turning back to regard them all in turn he finally leveled a hard look at Truss.

“And no, I have _not_ mastered both hands,” he growled, letting that sink in with them all.

“Well,” Fenris sighed, “Now that we have that out of the way, I’m going to explain to you exactly where I have found Qunari weakest, kossith in particular since I have one to help demonstrate….”

* * *

There was far less blood involved in today’s exercises so the initiates had far less to do. They had seemed pleased about that as they gathered the weapon racks and extra armor that they were ordered to bring out in the mornings and were soon gone. Fenris and Hassrath had again watched, sitting leaned against a wall lined with high arched windows, again with bottles that Fenris had brought along. Today Hassrath had suggested Fenris do the talking because he was better at it and in the process the knights had seen not only something of Hassrath’s skills but also had gotten a close up look at Fenris’s. That this arrangement seemed to work to both their advantages seemed obvious and in the end it would seem that this would be the easiest way to teach these men.

“I hate to say this,” Fenris muttered, working a muscle in his arm, “But being cooped up in here this way, this is actually starting to look like it might be a welcome distraction. I’ve spent far too much time lately doing nothing.”

“You,” Hassrath grunted, “Were not asked to remain in a room that only took seven steps to traverse. I did a lot of that, pacing to work off energy. Meditating to try and calm myself. Staring at walls until I was familiar with every grain, every knot, every pockmark left by its use.”

Fenris silently conceded that indeed Hassrath had been the one more sorely used in this exercise but something of the tone he used made him regard the larger man thoughtfully, considering if he should ask.

“When you say ‘try and calm’ yourself,” he finally responded, curiosity getting the better of him and hoping Hassrath wouldn’t take offense. “Why were you that uneasy? Beyond being a rather large being stuck in a very small space that is.”

Hassrath studied Fenris a moment before deciding that this interest was genuine concern. He sighed, considering his words carefully.

“For very nearly two years my duty in the Qun was to watch over her. It was no accident that she was given a reeducation camp to see to, nor was it an accident that it was one of the more remote ones,” Hassrath finally conceded. “Anyone reeducated and recently returned to the Qun drew scrutiny from the Ben-Hassrath and were often given jobs at the fringes until they were proven to be sound. I suspect they left her there because she had a talent for it. Their job of keeping an eye on her was made easier by her location because Fog Warrior raids in particular made the practice of giving important administrators their own guards sensible. In all that time, I had not been separated from her for more than hours at a time.”

Fenris regarded the kossith’s stoic, etched profile as he took a drink from his bottle.

“You missed her.”

Hassrath didn’t respond right away, struggling with admitting to that weakness until finally he nodded.

“I missed her.”

“There is,” Fenris sighed, “No shame in that.”

Hassrath sat his bottle down on the flagstones with more force than he intended and Fenris was vaguely surprised when it didn’t shatter.

“It was more than that, I worried. I have worried for so long now I do not know what it is like not to but trapped by my word there in that little room I worried until I was so distracted I could not think of anything else. I worried at her safety, I worried at what she was thinking and most important I worried that she might come to see I serve no valuable function and leave me behind.”

Fenris blinked at that admission. Uncertainty was something he suspected was in of itself a hard thing for Hassrath to admit to, confessing helplessness was something he knew hard for anyone schooled in the warrior’s way. But Hassrath was admitting to far more than that in his simple statement and Fenris knew it.

“There is no shame in that either,” Fenris replied honestly. “Caring may sometimes be inconvenient, but there is never any shame in it. It happens to us all, sometimes despite our best efforts to stop it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“The Qun teaches that nothing should ever supersede the good of the whole; that affection should never be allowed to turn you from that path.”

“But you,” Fenris pointed out lightly, “Are no longer of the Qun.”

“That,” Hassrath slapped a hand down on the flagstones with enough force that pain raced along his arm, suddenly angry, “Is not the point! Yes, I am Tal-Vashoth - now! But it was not always so!”

Fenris sighed. Now he understood.

“Love makes idiots of us all Hassrath. Makes you question yourself every day, complicates things that were once simple. But you have to ask yourself something – would you go back and change it? If you regret it then that regret will poison you and what you feel for her. But if you don’t, then you have nothing to be ashamed of. You are far braver than me.”

Hassrath, his anger suddenly gone, shot a look at Fenris that plainly stated he very much doubted that.

“No, it’s true,” Fenris assured him. “You _chose_ the freedom to question yourself despite the pain that, if you admit it to yourself, you _knew_ it would cause you. You walked away from the Qun despite the uncertainty of your future. _I_ didn’t. Hawke drug me out of the dark by the scruff of my neck and _dared_ me to crawl back in there. And at first I hated her for it.” He paused to take in the surprised look Hassrath shot him. “Oh yes, I did. I resented _her_ , I resented the Fog Warriors for accepting me on _her_ word and I was a tight little ball of complete misery because I was given something I didn’t understand. Still don’t know that I do, but I have accepted that the freedom to decide for myself is something worth the misery of learning to understanding it.”

Hassrath fell silent, snagging the bottle off the floor and very nearly draining it outright. What his friend said made sense even if it contradicted a great deal of what he had always known. Fenris left him to his brooding, recognizing all too well that feeling – he still found himself doing it. The silence that fell between them was a tense thing even if it was companionable all the same. Finally Hassrath sat his empty bottle on the floor and sighed.

“I must take my leave,” he said as he pulled himself to his feet. “I have another lesson to teach today.”

Fenris looked up at him questioningly but Hassrath didn’t comment further, simply plucked his sheathed sword from its resting place on the floor and turned to leave.

* * *

Maraas knew when Hassrath had left despite his best efforts to not disturb her. She had watched through her lashes as he pulled off the few bandages she had applied the night before and silently inspected each wound before finally taking his sword and leaving. She had tried to go back to sleep but the beginnings of a nagging worry began to pick at her. She laid there trying to ignore it but it refused to be silent and finally she’d given up. She tried distracting herself with the books she had taken from the library but as time went on she had found herself incapable of focusing on what she was reading. It pecked at the edges, fraying at her concentration, demanding attention until her willingness to entertain it was beside the point. So finally she decided to examine it in the hopes of banishing it.

In her life she had learned many skills with at least some degree of competence and those skills had often served her well both inside the Qun and even now outside of it. But she had now volunteered to be taught one that would serve her no good outside her relationship with Hassrath and it was one she knew _had_ to come to more than just competence- she had to _master_ it. Nothing less would do honor to her feelings for this man. That it was so very far outside her purview daunted her. Never had she wielded a weapon, never once had it occurred to her to even consider it. Even Hawke’s lessons in defense had been limited to those things that could be done with bare hands. The closest she had ever come was surrendering Hassrath’s weapon to Hawke that day that seemed so very distant now. Just the thought of being responsible for that same sword made her something inside her clench.

She had not offered this spur of the moment; she had been considering it carefully since Llomerryn. While they had been apart, she hadn’t been sure- doubt had nagged at her. She knew it was her own failing, one forced upon her by her own circumstance and not by any fault of his but still it refused to be banished. Regardless of how she missed him, how she longed for his presence because even those things he did that irritated were grieved, still this reservation plagued her. It had been his reaction at their reunion, his ability to so simply express his own feelings on the matter that had finally settled her on this path. She’d thought herself comfortable with the idea and didn’t understand this attack of nerves at the reality. She’d seen it done, had even seen him do it and had a notion at what was involved, knew herself capable of learning and adapting and beyond any doubt wished him to understand without question how she felt – so why was this so very different?

And finally she had to admit it, even to herself why.

The nervous energy got the better of her and she found herself pacing, refusing to leave the room because she didn’t know when he would return. The whole while she fought with herself, did her best to convince herself that this was not productive, that all it was accomplishing was to scare herself into the exact failure she was suddenly afraid of. She was mentally walking in a tight little circle, one that got her nowhere. And that was how Hassrath found her, completely lost to her own thoughts and not hearing the door. He watched her silently, finding it in some ways gratifying that she was as nervous of this as he was. It had never once occurred to him to doubt her ability, it was that she had _desire_ to do it which gave him greatest pause so he made no comment at her obvious apprehension. Instead he closed the door and sat both his sword and the leather bag he was carrying to the side, watching as she tried not to fidget.

Struggling against a smile that she would not appreciate, one that even he didn’t really understand, he decided she needed a distraction. Taking her gently by the shoulders he steered her to the bed and, pointing at the salves the healer had given her still lined along the dresser, sat expectantly. She blinked before nodding and turning her attention to his wounds. As she gently saw to them he watched her, wondering what she was thinking. Maraas was a quietly confident woman, not prone to the kinds of fits of anxiety he had just witnessed and he wondered at its cause. Was she reconsidering? That thought made a knot in his stomach but he knew it was a grave responsibility she had given to herself and in the end it was her choice, one that she could rescind now if she wished. It would change nothing to his mind because he would still happily stand between her and all the world if that was what was required to keep her safe. The offer alone spoke volumes.

Maraas could feel him watching her as she worked, knew he was studying her carefully and she wondered what he was thinking. Unable to bring herself to meet his eye she just concentrated on what was before her. She wasn’t sure which shamed her more - that she had these reservations or that now he knew. And he _had_ to know after the display he’d witnessed. Rarely had she ever given herself room to doubt herself but with him she’d done nothing but and that it was so very beyond her ability to control…. As she knelt before him to look to the ripened and nasty bruise on his chest, she sighed, more disappointed in herself than ever she could express and wondered if he would _allow_ her the honor she’d asked for now.

That sigh, so very pregnant with things he didn’t understand but wanted to finally spurred Hassrath to action. He laid his hand over hers, pressing it flat to his chest. She had been so intent on her own thoughts that it startled her and she looked up at him wide-eyed. He didn’t say anything for a few moments, just studied the riot of things that passed across her face in that moment before he finally spoke.

“Are you sure?”

She didn’t respond right away, trying desperately to read those three words. In the end it wasn’t what she could or could not see in his face or hear in those simple words that put her doubts to rest, it was in fact the feel of his heart, so warm and strong and steady under her hand that put her on her course more firmly than ever her own head could. Swallowing hard she found her voice and with it some shreds of her courage as well.

“Yes.” She paused a moment before finally asking, “Are you?”

He nodded and she suddenly found herself struggling against tears at the faith he had in her, faith he gave her unconditionally and that she had forced him to earn from her again and again. Before she could wrangle control the tears got the better of her and he snagged her chin to stop her looking away, forcing her to look at him. She looked so sad and he just didn’t understand, afraid it was something he’d done. Cupping her face in his hands he wiped at the tears with his thumbs, struggling to find something to say.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled miserably, seeing his confused helplessness plainly.

“Why?”

“I’m scared,” she confessed simply.

Hassrath blinked, deciding this wasn’t quite what he expected but that was just fine with him - fear was something he knew how to fight. Reaching down he gathered her to him, pulling her from the floor and into his lap. When she buried her face under his chin he sighed, one hand stroking gently at her back. “So am I,” he admitted softly and wasn’t entirely surprised when her response was to sob. He left her to it, knowing there was no better cure for this than to just let it out and if this was how she chose to do that? Then he would sit here as long as that took. There was, he knew, no hurry because he was going nowhere and eventually she would come to understand that as much in her heart as her head. Loyalty was a concept Hassrath held as dear as honor, indeed he had used both as a balm against the unhappiness he’d felt in his life for so long now he wouldn’t begin to know how to face the world without them. Whether she realized it or not she held his loyalty as sure as she held his heart.

Long after her sobs subsided she remained hidden in the shelter he provided, trying to sort through her own feelings and finally coming to the decision that there just simply was no end to them. He waited patiently, a little worried at what she was thinking but knowing somehow she needed this moment. When she finally laid her head on his shoulder, looking up at him thoughtfully he braced himself.

“Why?” she asked.

At first he said nothing, just regarded her tearstained face. He knew well the answer but could not decide if its confession would help. She could see his indecision and when he suddenly looked away it steeled something inside her, something that needed hardened in that quiet moment. Reaching up she cupped his cheek and gently forced him to look back at her. He wasn’t hiding this time, behind that curtain of stoicism he’d been taught and so faithfully maintained. Maybe this situation put him beyond it, she didn’t know, but it hurt her in a way she couldn’t even describe to see him vulnerable as he was just then.

“Why?” she repeated gently.

Swallowing hard on the lump of emotion that was nearly choking him, he finally found his voice.

“That you will leave.”

Maraas blinked, amazed to realize she had held this power over him without knowing it. She knew it to be the truth because even beyond his stubborn inability to falsely present himself she could see it, written plainly across his face. Was this why he had followed her? She had known him to be unhappy within his role but she also knew that he had long ago come to a kind of terms with it, finding those things that made it tolerable and clinging to them.

“I wouldn’t do that,” she whispered fervently.

“I have heard that before,” he returned, a bitterness she didn’t know he had in him coloring each word. She wondered at its cause but knew now was not the time.

“I have no doubt,” she replied softly, “But _I_ would never abandon you. _I_ wouldn’t know what to do without you. _I_ feel naked without you. I wandered Isabela’s ship all those weeks having to remind myself you were not there and every time I did I had to prompt myself it _wasn’t_ forever.” She paused, amazed at her own courage and realizing suddenly it was his need that gave it to her. “I _need_ you, it is just that simple and I will _always_ need you. I will never forsake you regardless of whether you believe that or not.”

He made no comment, just regarded her in silence as he absorbed it all. Suddenly unwilling to sit idle, Maraas let her fingers slip lightly along his jaw, tracing along it with their tips. When they found his ear she let them glide along that as well, finding its tip before following the path it presented down the other side to the edges of his cheekbone. When he closed his eyes, a small contented sound escaping him she was further emboldened by the power she suddenly found herself wielding against him. She didn’t truly understand it but sensed understanding wasn’t necessary. Slowly, gently she skimmed her fingers along every angle, ridge and plane of his face, memorizing with her fingers something she had long ago committed to memory with her eyes. The sculpted jaw with its strong chin and the barest hint of a cleft, the pronounced cheekbones, the heavy brow, the generously full lower lip crowned by a sternly thinner one and the once arrow straight nose now marred by a catch caused by badly healed break in the past. The smooth skin over his cheek, the rougher feel of his forehead where frown lines were deep and the gentle ridges of the horns that crowned his head, all felt the soothing touch of her hands.

When she followed an instinct she didn’t know she had, simply knew it was something she wanted to do and nuzzled under his jaw, pressing her lips to the pulse she could see there, it simply wasn’t in him to protest. He was completely lost, adrift in a sea of things she had loosed inside him, things he was hard put to even try and identify. So he sat, more relaxed than he could ever remember while her lips slipped along a place he had been taught to always defend, to use to kill if it was necessary. Something in him knew this to be wrong and it forced his hand into her hair but it lacked the strength to fight just as he lacked it to refuse her. He simply had no defense against this gently sensual moment and it was she who finally ended it, pulling back to meet his eye.

“You are everything,” she whispered. “Without you I am nothing. That is why I chose this name, to remind myself that alone I truly am maraas.”

He said nothing for a long time and she watched as he digested that, not even trying to hide what he was thinking from her as he did. She saw a great many things on his face, some she could understand and some that she could not, but doubt was not among them. When finally he took a deep breath and closed his eyes she knew he had found his footing in this new understanding. When he opened them again she saw nothing but fierce determination, and catching her gaze he laid his forehead to hers.

“You will _never_ be nothing,” he growled harshly, “So long as I can draw breath you will _never_ _be_ _nothing_.”

She nodded almost imperceptibly at the intenseness radiating from him, a little intimidated but far more ecstatic that he felt so strongly. Suddenly overwhelmed she slipped her arms around his neck and buried her face there as well. She was not hiding from him this time he knew, she was surrendering to him and wrapping his arms around her tight, he knew he would never doubt his worth to her again.

* * *

“You are being rather hard on Sir Truss,” Knight-Commander Cullen commented lightly as he watched the initiates begin cleaning up behind the third day of training. From the first he had been fielding protests from the older knights that were usually tasked with these duties. A great many felt the methods too harsh, that the kossith was using his Templars to make a statement. He had made a point to make an appearance the first day to show a tacit approval because to his view he was indeed making a statement and it was one that some of these men needed made.

“Has he complained?” Hassrath crossed his arms, looking down his nose at the Knight-Commander who had suddenly appeared at the end of the training session and who was now sitting on the floor with the two men he had appropriated as trainers.

“No,” Cullen replied, waving off the bottle that Fenris offered politely. “None of them have actually which is one reason I have put aside the concerns of the trainers.” Cullen paused a moment before grunting thoughtfully. “I frankly approve. Truss is far too brash for his own good.”

“That,” Fenris remarked dryly, “Is one way of putting it. Has he ever lost a fight?”

“Rarely,” Cullen sighed, “And he is a fast study as well. He tends to not make the same mistake twice.”

Hassrath snorted.

“No, it’s true,” Cullen assured the taller man. “He is generally beyond the skills that most of his trainers have, which is how he has achieved his rank so young. But he needs tempering and I suspect you are good for him. I have tried but my own rank holds his tongue and keeps his more rash inclinations in check. The two of you don’t hold that distinction.”

Fenris blinked, taking in the implication behind that statement.

“Are you saying you want us to do more than train his irritation of yours?” Hassrath asked lightly, having understood Cullen as well as Fenris had.

“Oh, if you can teach him patience and temperance? By all means do whatever you feel necessary.” Cullen sighed, regarding each man thoughtfully before finally admitting, “I see a lot of myself in him and I know what it took to get me here. I don’t particularly want to watch him learn the hard way that not everything in this world that can defeat you can be physically beaten to submission. When the world at large teaches those lessons it tends to break good men. Very nearly broke me.”

Fenris looked at Hassrath who sighed. Despite Cullen’s original protests that his intention was to have them train, he was indeed asking them to now _teach_ but Hassrath could see the logic. He suspected, and had since the first day, that if he didn’t have the advantage of size, strength and more importantly, experience, that this brassy little Templar would have chance at beating him. Given the opportunity to adapt to the first two, Truss had a good chance of doing it still. Shooting Cullen a hard look from under his brows Hassrath nodded.

“And if we fail?” Fenris sighed.

“Then I will find another way,” Cullen shrugged. “I refuse to give up on him. He’s a good man for all that he is young and untested really.”

“Is he noble-born?” Fenris asked curious.

“Bastard-born more like,” Cullen nodded. “When his mother died his noble father abandoned him to the Chantry. Didn’t want to explain to a highborn wife, I suppose. The Mothers had no idea how to handle him, so they sent me an angry initiate.”

“How old?”

“Nine.”

“Then he has something to prove,” Fenris nodded, “To himself if not his father.”

“Indeed,” Cullen agreed.

Hassrath listened, not entirely understanding this conversation because it was completely out of his experience. But he did understand wanting to prove your worth and definitely understood putting a leash on emotions. He held up a hand and regarded the other men a moment.

“I have an idea.”

* * *

“I have had a trip to Ostwick planned for some months,” Cullen regarded Fantin with just a hint of the distaste he held the Crow in showing on his face, “Sebastian and Carver have agreed to accompany me. We need at least three city-states in agreement in order to call a Landsmeet of the Free Marches and Ostwick seems the best candidate. I was undecided as to whether or not to agree to rebuilding another Circle but if I agree to it then the Teyrn will be in my debt. And with the representatives of two of the more politically and economically influential cities in the Free Marches there we may have a chance to bringing them to our banner.”

Fantin wore a deliberate air of boredom though in fact he found his summons to the offices of the Viscount interesting. It was one of those rare moments when he found himself actually surprised. He had expected to have less to do with the people of power and instead be relegated to the shadows at the back of the room, a place he was intimately familiar with and most days rather preferred. From that vantage very little was completely hidden. He suspected Hawke’s influence.

“Fascinating,” Fantin replied with an equal hint of the distaste he held Cullen in. He of course already knew about the planned trip and its reasons and though he could respect his man’s position, the ideals he held and even the secrets that both he and Hawke’s regent kept, he could find little to like in the starchy man himself. “Is there something that I can do to aide you in this endeavor?”

“Yes actually, there is,” Carver responded from his chair behind the large desk that dominated his office, taking control of the conversation because he could sense the veiled hostility both men held the other with. “It would help if we had a representative of the Crows with us, as well as that declaration from the Queen of Antiva. Everyone knows that Antiva’s real martial power lies in the Crows and not in her armies.”

“Indeed,” Fantin agreed lightly. “Our queen most graciously ignores us and we most graciously inform her of anything we see that might compromise her. It is an arrangement that has kept her quite possibly the safest monarch in all of Thedas. While the Crows have no loyalty to the crown, so long as the crown honors that trust we would happily fight until the last to defend it and her.” He paused to regard Cullen with a look spoke volumes. “Are you asking me to join this jaunt to Ostwick?”

Cullen’s look darkened so Carver again stepped in. “Not necessarily you, unless you have no one you would trust enough to send. Sebastian and I both feel it would show that… more powers than just the two of us believe in this cause.”

Fantin sat back in his chair and folded his hands thoughtfully, finding that admission both amusing and gratifying at the same time. It wasn’t often that men who wielded power on an overtly political scale were forced by circumstances to admit that there were some who wielded as much or more power in the same arenas covertly. Now he understood Cullen’s distaste for this meeting far better. The Templars of Kirkwall were far too used to having the ultimate say in things they really had no business concerning themselves with to Fantin’s mind. Their charter said nothing pertaining to rule over men _unless_ those men were mages.

“I would,” he finally responded, “prefer to go myself. Not that I do not have people in my employ that I could trust implicitly with the responsibility but I think it would make,” he paused a moment waving a deliberately grandiose hand, “a far more committed impression if it were to be a Crow Master. Two in fact since I know one to be ensconced in Ostwick though I doubt the Teyrn himself is aware of it.” Plus, he mused internally, it will tweak these Templars’ noses. “Vicenzo can deal with anything that might come up here. When should I make myself ready?”

“Two days,” Cullen sighed, already tired of this man’s presence and not looking forward to a month in his company. “Isabela has graciously volunteered her vessel.” Cullen paused when Fantin’s eyebrow shot up in surprise, expecting the elf to have something to say about using a privateer vessel on a diplomatic mission but Fantin said nothing. “The general consensus seems to be that she had the fastest ship currently docked in Kirkwall.”

“Oh, that it is,” Fantin remarked, wondering if she was aware he was being invited and suspecting not. “You could do worse.”

“It’s not a problem then?” Carver asked, not having missed the pause the information had given the Crow.

“Not for me,” Fantin assured him as he stood. “If you will excuse me then? I have arrangements to make for my absence.”

Carver nodded politely and met Cullen’s eye as Fantin retreated out into the Keep. Neither man caught the barest hint of a smirk that Fantin carried with him.

* * *

Sebastian was completely unsurprised when he found Hawke outside. Even the cold couldn’t keep her locked behind stone walls it would seem and he suspected that it was an unconscious reaction to being forced to stay in the one place she had always, even as the viscount, avoided as much as possible. In the last few weeks since his arrival he hadn’t had much chance to talk to Hawke privately but he suspected her feelings on the Circle of Magi hadn’t changed much over the years. Firm convictions rarely did without serious challenge and putting them aside even for necessity was rarely an easy thing. She was in the garden, leaning against a tree and staring at the ground between her feet as if studying the left over fall leaves that still littered the ground, some still clinging to their color, though faintly. She looked sad.

“Is the cold to be considered a novelty after years spent in its absence?” he asked lightly when she noticed his approach.

“I missed it actually,” Hawke openly smiled, something she had few opportunities to do these days. “And not because of the constant heat either. I missed the changing of the seasons. Without it sometimes it was hard to remember just how much time had passed.”

Sebastian leaned against the tree next to her and sighed. “More than a little I am afraid.”

“I know,” she replied with a tone lighter than she felt. “I have to admit that I didn’t feel the passage of the years so much in Seheron. So much there is timeless, but here? Everything changes.” She looked around thoughtfully. “You know Mother used to tell me about the garden, back when she would come to visit Carver. You could tell how much she enjoyed it. I think something in her always missed the green of Lothering. Of all the places we lived, I think she missed it most.”

“You were there longest were you not?” Sebastian asked, trying to pull old memories from their cupboards.

“Yes, but I don’t think it had to do with that so much as that was where we were happiest. And the saddest.” Hawke paused to look at Sebastian a moment. “Father found his refuge there, not because he was good at hiding himself and us, but because we stumbled completely blind into a place that was willing to accept an apostate. There were a few that knew about him and kept that to themselves. Your Chantry sometimes fools itself into thinking that mages are the only ones who see the flaws in the system they have set themselves. No, Lothering was where Father found acceptance and also where he died happy and that is why she missed it.”

“Do you?”

“What? Miss Lothering? Of course I do. Most of my fondest memories are from there.” Hawke sighed hard and crossed her arms. “I missed Kirkwall as well even if it holds fewer fond memories for me. Lothering nurtured me, Kirkwall tested me and Seheron proved the mettle they created. The three made me who I am today. I for one see nothing particularly wrong in it.”

Sebastian tipped his head, allowing she was right, there was nothing wrong in it. Most people lived their lives without the sorts of tests that had created them both and he knew it – their tests were simpler and not the sorts that would change the course of history. But that was the price to be paid for accepting responsibility for things beyond yourself. He had been born to it, she hadn’t and even if they didn’t always agree he had to respect her for taking it on, no matter her motivations.

“So if you had the opportunity,” he asked quietly, “You would change nothing?”

Hawke looked at him from under her lashes, wondering if this was Sebastian asking, or the consummate Starkhaven diplomat, or the simple Chantry brother she still sensed in him.

“I would change a great many things Sebastian, even if it meant ending up less than I am. But regret is a poison I will not allow myself to partake in.” She held her hands out, drawing his attention to them. “I still look at these and see blood. Innocent blood that had no reason to be spilled into the dust. That is the one regret I allow in the door because I _want_ that reminder. I will _never_ allow that to happen again if it is in my power to stop it and you can count on that as sure as you count on your Chant of Light.”

“There is,” he conceded as he reached out and took both her hands in his, “nothing wrong in that either. I, for one, would much rather a Champion feel the loss of an innocent more dearly.”

Hawke studied him a moment, finally deciding that there was no separating the man from the mantles he wore. Life had blended them over the years until they were all one thing, each pulling and influencing the other to create the man that stood before her. Of all her companions he had always challenged her the hardest, testing her beliefs and opinions with softly spoken wisdom that she often hadn’t seen the truth in until far later because her nature had always been one that pushed. This time he wasn’t testing she realized, he was in a very simple way affirming and in the process breaching walls that she had carefully built to hold the guilt at bay. Sebastian saw it happening and without a word pulled her into a comforting embrace, allowing her the time to shed bitter tears.

“I know I encouraged you to follow Meredith that day,” he whispered when she finally quieted, “And I regret it. I was angry and I was wounded and let that pain blind me. Elthina would never have approved. She might have understood but she never would have approved of me that day. I should have told you this long ago, but it took me a while to understand it myself. I am sorry.” 

“I think Elthina would have disapproved of us all,” Hawke sighed into his shoulder, deciding not to retreat from him. “And she wouldn’t have had to say anything to make it known.”

“She did rather have a way of doing that didn’t she?” Sebastian chuckled.

“Yes she did,” Hawke agreed, pulling back enough so that she could lay a hand on his shoulder and look up at him. “This tree is hers you know.” Sebastian looked up at the bare branches over their heads. “The mages planted it in her honor. It didn’t escape them that she did everything she could for them.”

“I did not know,” he sighed, looking back at her.

“At the time, they didn’t want to draw more attention. They were afraid actually. I only knew because Carver told me, after the fact.” Hawke paused to look up thoughtfully before confessing, “That is the way mages do things. Quietly, deliberately. Sometimes it is the only thing that keeps the demons away – the ones in this world as well as the Fade.”

Sebastian thought about that for a moment, before nodding. He could understand that.

“I think she would be pleased to be honored in such a way,” he responded sadly, “Simply. It was her way.”

Hawke nodded, agreeing completely.

“Well,” Sebastian remarked, “Have you had enough of this cold yet?”

“By all means,” Hawke chuckled and taking full advantage of the fact he still had an arm wrapped around her waist, leaned against him to whisper in his ear and let a finger trace up his neck. “Let’s go find someplace warm and thaw you out. We wouldn’t want you freezing off those naughty bits the women at court find so interesting.”

Sebastian snorted loudly, a little taken aback at the abrupt change and chiding himself as she turned away laughing at the startled look on his face. This was Hawke and he should know to expect it.

“Now _that_ ,” she chortled as she left him standing looking after her, “Is the Sebastian I remember.”

* * *

Hawke leaned against the door when she closed it behind the two First Enchanters. Both were uncomfortable with their new roles as martial leaders mustering their troupes and had come to her, pleading for her to assist them because they honestly did not know what to say to their people. It had been a long evening for her, gently reassuring them both that they were doing fine and that she would be happy to help in any way that she could. Fenris had stayed out of the conversation entirely, not completely at ease with the entire notion even if he understood that the mages would ultimately be vital to any hope of success. Now he stood, staring out one of the windows completely unaware that silence had fallen over the room. Hawke knew that frown; Fenris was brooding about something and she suspected it had nothing to do with mages. He had been quiet even before their arrival. She wondered if she should ask, but looking at him decided against it. He had never been shy about voicing his concerns before so she was sure when he decided he wanted her opinion, he would ask. Sighing she went to him, slipping her arms round him and laying her chin lightly on his shoulder.

“You have been quiet tonight,” she observed lightly, leaving it there and wasn’t surprised when Fenris simply sighed and turned his head to rub his cheek against hers.

“I have been thinking,” he finally admitted, “That I am a long way from where I started. I was a slave, now I am free. I used to think I was simple, that I wanted nothing but to survive to see another day even if that day was generally the same as the day before it. I expected nothing from anyone and was happiest when nothing much was expected of me. Freedom is tricky - it makes you want more, makes you expect things and makes you happiest when people ask things of you.” He sighed heavily and looked back out the window. “I’m not sure I am ever going to completely understand it and it scares me. It scares me that Hassrath looks to me for advice when I’m not sure I understand.”

“Well then,” Hawke murmured, laying a cheek to the back of his shoulder, “That makes you the perfect person for him to look to. Freedom means different things to different people Fenris. It’s a bit of a generalization but freedom to a Circle mage means living without fear and freedom to an apostate is living without constant observation and threat. That may sound the same thing but it’s not. A Circle mage can live without fear inside a Circle easily but an apostate mage cannot, and the same can be said in reverse. Hassrath’s idea of freedom will be different from yours, but that doesn’t mean you can’t help him define it for himself and maybe he can help you define your own.”

Fenris was silent for a bit while he considered that, laying his hand over hers as it lay centered on his chest.

“What is freedom to you?”

“Being able to determine my own path,” Hawke replied without pause, “And in my own way, mistakes and all.”

Fenris nodded, looking down at her hand under his.

“That sounds like a good definition to me.”

She smiled to herself. They were a pretty pair – her struggling with her past and him struggling with his future. To her the future was this nebulous thing, full of potential for anything and as such something to be embraced but she could well understand how that same tenuousness raised Fenris’s hackles. He was so used to living completely in the here and now. And she could understand it daunting Hassrath, used to having his path laid plainly before him from birth to death. They both had no choice now but to forge their own.

“Just be honest with Hassrath,” she sighed, slipping around him and draping her arms round his neck. “I think he appreciates the truth, even if it is sometimes less than a wonderful thing.”

Fenris nodded and pulled her to him, enjoying the comfort of her pressed against him and looked out the window. He had not been entirely truthful with her because while his deepening friendship with Hassrath had been worrying him, it had not been what had drawn him so deep in thought. It had been their own relationship that had pulled him - his feelings about her, her past and the people who populated it, some not content to stay there. Whenever he thought about her relationship with the abomination it made his gut clench but not nearly the way it had when he had gone looking for her today and found her in the embrace of Starkhaven’s prince. That pain had startled him and had made him flinch away, returning the way he had come before either had noticed him. Even now it lay there and he didn’t understand it. She was here, with him, open and giving and comforting. She had vowed her heart to him and he had no reason to doubt her and indeed not even this pain could make him question her. But still it was there.

* * *

Truss looked about, as confused and bleary as he had been when the Knight-Commander had quietly roused him from his bed in the barracks, simply ordering him to dress warmly and follow. It had not escaped his notice that though Cullen was unarmored, he carried a sword under his cloak and it did not go without note when Cullen pulled his own sword from its place on the armor stand next to his bed. He had thought to question him but one glance at the stern look and demanding air of his commander had silenced him and instead he did as he was told, following behind respectfully as Cullen lead him through the darkened halls of a Circle mostly asleep, their path going ever down.  Past the floors of sleeping mages, their guards silently patrolling the halls, past the administrative floors, where the day to day business of keeping a Circle secure and as happy as it could be were seen to, past the ornate ground floor, with its grand spaces and statues, meant to impress and intimidate visitors, past the floor dedicated to the Circle’s more mundane business with laundries and kitchens, stores of foods and furniture.

Now Truss was lost, he had never been further and had no idea where they were. Cullen confidently followed the halls, knowing exactly where to turn in the dark – and it was dark. Their only light now was the torch that Cullen had pulled from its holder to light their way. Heavy doors, each made of magically enhanced steel that glowed gently broke the smooth stone walls, cut from the very rock that the Gallows stood on at rare intervals but Truss spared them neither a glance nor a thought, still trying to work out in his head what was going on. Templars were a judicious order, one not prone to showy display either public or private. Their role was a serious one and as such they conducted themselves the same way. They left the mystery to the mages - allowed them be the shepherds of pomp and circumstance inside the Circle. It was one of the reasons Truss had stayed, one of the reasons he had ultimately dedicated himself to the order because it was something he could respect, that dedication to stability and common sense. This vagueness made him uncomfortable and he suspected his commander knew it.

It was not beyond him that Cullen had taken more than a passing interest in him since his arrival at the Gallows more than a decade ago. Then the Circle had been in turmoil, Orsino and Meredith at each other’s throats, Cullen standing thoughtfully to the side, keeping his own council in the brewing storm and silently seeing to it that regardless the Gallows still ran like a well oiled machine. Part of his duties then had been to see to the new initiates, those who had volunteered or who were sent from the Chantry’s orphanages. As often as not initiates did not meet the standards of the Templars or decided on their own that this was not the life they thought they wanted. Some stayed on, filling needs less martial but most returned home. Truss had no home to return to and after the initial shock of such an orderly existence had worn off, found that in this environment of predictable sensibility suited him, even if he often found himself chaffing under some of its rules.

Cullen had watched, even after his ascension to Knight-Commander, quick with words of praise and equally fast to condemn him for arrogance and though Truss respected Cullen he often thought him too cautious. It had been his age he was sure that initially drew Cullen’s interest, far younger than most of the initiates because the Mothers had not known what to do with him. His anger had been a hot thing then, burning him as much as those around him. Here it had been tempered into something much cooler but just as explosive, something that lay dormant most of the time and some days he could forget it was there even if it influenced every decision he made.

When Cullen turned down a hall that opened up, leading past barred cages long since gone rusty with disuse though their magic was still plain and powerful and the Templar in him recognized instantly as blood magic. Truss knew suddenly where they were. Though few were allowed into these sections of the Gallows their legend still resided there, told by those who wished to impress with their access to the hidden parts of the Circle. This was the prison, the part of the Gallows that the Tevinters had built to house the worst of the criminal elements of their society in Kirkwall. Truss did not want to ponder what Tevinters considered worthy of this place considering the things they even now openly advocated or discreetly tolerated. Perhaps, he mused, it had been different then but considering some of the things he had been taught during his training, he tended to doubt it. These cages had been made during the reign of Magisters arrogant enough to question even the Maker, to think themselves worthy to walk the Maker’s most sacred places, scarring them forever. Looking away from the small austere spaces that they passed, he felt a shudder run along his back. Why was he here?

They passed through the hall quickly because it was not a long one and at its end was a door. Unlike prior doors this one was not enhanced by magic, sealed shut to all who did not have the key and Cullen pushed it open unceremoniously. There was light inside and it spilled into the gloom, temporarily blinding both men until their eyes adjusted. Cullen stood aside and holding an arm out, ushered Truss inside and without trying to hide the questioning look he shot at his commander, he followed the unspoken order. He was pulled short when what greeted him was the Qunari standing like a statue, arms crossed and looking severe. No, he corrected himself, the Tal-Vashoth, whatever it was that that meant. He suspected it was more than rebel, more along the lines of sacrilege and this man wore that mantle uncomfortably, something even he could see.

Before he could formulate the question banging inside his head, begging for escape, Cullen stepped around him and handed Hassrath his sword. Without pause Hassrath pulled it from its sheath, holding it up to the light and inspecting it close. Snorting, a sound that irritated Truss because he knew the sword to be unremarkable, he drew breath to defend it and himself against this creature’s judgment. A sharp look from Cullen silenced him so instead he seethed in silence. What would this man know of it? Templars were given their first set of equipment and expected from there to see it its upkeep. Should something happen they were expected to repair and replace at their own expense and the meager stipend they earned did not support extravagance. He refused to explain that this sword was what he could afford at the time and that he continued to use it because he was saving for one far better. Let him think whatever he wanted. When the kossith suddenly turned, walking to a firepit that burned brightly at one end of the large, bare room and tossed the sword into the hot coals it was more than Truss could tolerate.

“What are you doing?” he cried angrily, knowing that the heat would forever warp and weaken the metal. Advancing on Hassrath, he was stopped when the kossith pulled his own sword, holding its tip at him.

“It was an acceptable sword for someone learning to fight,” Hassrath replied levelly. “You are no longer a student in that arena and such things must be put away.”

“What?” Truss stared at the kossith, hands clenched in rage before turning on Cullen. “You are going to allow this? He’s just destroyed the only weapon I have to do service!”

“No,” Cullen replied, his voice deceptively light. “No, it is not the only weapon you have Truss and its time you understand that. Hassrath has done nothing but destroy your crutch.”

“What?” Truss gaped at the Knight-Commander but could read nothing in his expression.

“You have proven yourself able to fight,” Hassrath snorted, still standing with his sword outstretched, defending the death of Truss’s weapon. “Anyone can fight. Some do it better than others and some rise to the challenge only when tested. It is nothing special. A battlefield is littered with them and it is their blood that soaks the earth. You are better than that and that is why we are here.”

Hassrath nodded to Cullen, who pulled the sword strapped to his hip free and unceremoniously threw it at Truss. Catching it reflexively because his mind was still trying to make sense of this entire situation, it took a moment for what was in his hand to register. This sword was… exquisite. There was no other word for it. It was heavy, its folded steel shone in the light straight and true. The fuller was crisp, the guard simple but etched deep with the Templar heraldry. The grip was pale polished ironbark, the pommel etched with Chantry heraldry. This sword was nothing he could ever hope to afford, some _nobles_ couldn’t afford this level of craftsmanship and he looked at Cullen, his confusion even plainer.

“That,” Hassrath lowered his sword, using it to indicate the weapon that was now starting to glow about the edges in the hot coals, “Is the weapon of a fighter. The one you hold is the tool of a warrior and if you wish to be a warrior, then you must earn it.”

“It isn’t sharpened,” Truss observed absently, having only vaguely heard him as he continued to study the sword in his hand.  

“That is your job,” Hassrath noted, resheathing his own sword. “That is the last sword you will ever own because that is your tool, your reason for existence. It is representative of your soul and something you must learn to understand. We have brought you here, to a place Sir Cullen says has meaning for Templars, a place of imprisonment because you are imprisoned as well. One way or another, you hold the tool to set yourself free.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will,” Cullen sighed, laying a hand to Truss’s shoulder and looking at Hassrath before taking his leave. As he closed the door behind him, he sighed. “Or at least I hope so.” Then, pulling the torch he had left outside the door from the holder on the wall, he headed for the surface. He had a ship to catch this morning.

* * *

Isabela stared at Aveline, not quite sure she had heard her right but entirely sure she didn’t like it. Bad enough that Iron Drawers had shown up at the very hint of dawn to ensure that everything was prepared for their departure with the morning tide, bringing with her the small contingent of Kirkwall guard that Carver intended to take with her.  Now she was saying that the extra cabin that the seneschal had sent a note explaining was to be needed was for…

“Fantin? Did you say Fantin is coming on this pleasure cruise?”

Aveline looked close first at Isabela, her look fluctuating between shock and fury, and then Klaton who stood behind her, his look plainly and simply dark and foreboding. Instinct, something honed and kept sharp, sprang immediately to the fore and she wondered just what this was about?

“Yes,” she replied, keeping her tone neutral, “It was decided that having our representative of the Crows there would be in our best interest. Why? Is there a problem?”

Isabela didn’t reply, instead she turned smartly and deciding she had not had enough sleep to deal with this, headed for her cabin.

“You take care of this,” she ordered Klaton sharply over her shoulder.

Klaton sighed and looked at Aveline, who was watching Isabela’s retreat with no small amount of interest. When Aveline turned her sharp and probing look at him and repeated the question, Klaton simply shook his head.

“Not so long as he behaves.”

“He is a Crow, Klaton,” Aveline pointed out, “Since when have you known them to ‘behave’ as you put it?”

Klaton sniffed thoughtfully as he drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at the Guard Captain. “This one had better learn or he might find himself swimming home,” he stated flatly before he too stalked away.

She watched him thoughtfully a moment as he began giving orders, then turned to look at Isabela’s closed cabin door, one eyebrow crawling up to a very high arch. Oh, Aveline thought to herself and now almost glad now she was stuck with this duty, this is going to be interesting.

* * *

 “What is that?”

“A sword.”

“No.”

“A weapon.”

“No.”

Truss sighed, almost sounding petulant doing it and Hassrath checked his temper, pointing at the sword in his hand.

“It is a tool, _your_ tool to be specific,” he informed him, trying not to feel like he was speaking to a child. “It extends your reach when necessary, it guards when it is needed. This tool identifies you; everyone who sees it knows who and what you are. At its most basic, it tells that you know how to kill but those observant will read more. They will see that you are proficient enough to handle a tool of this caliber, they will see that you are a warrior and that you have pledged your skills to the Chantry.” Hassrath watched as Truss looked at the unsharpened sword again and sighed. “Tell me- do you not, when you see a man with a sword at his hip or back, immediately assess both the weapon and the man carrying it?” When Truss nodded Hassrath continued, “Then assume that they are doing the same with you.”

Truss looked up at Hassrath when he held out a whetstone, one of a coarse grade, and a bottle of oil.

“It will take forever to sharpen this by hand,” he observed as he accepted both.

“Then it will take forever,” Hassrath growled. “This is your tool, and you must become as familiar with it as you are your own skin. It needs to settle into its new home in your hand and become part of you. It has already earned your respect, now you must earn it back.”

“What does that mean?”

Hassrath struggled a moment before pulling his own sheathed sword from his back and sitting on the cool stone floor next to Truss. He looked at his sword a moment before pulling it out of its sheath several inches and holding it up to the younger man, offering him the chance to look at his own weapon up close. Truss looked at it a moment before grasping the hilt and pulling the longsword from its sheath. While he looked at it, inspecting the ornate guard and carved pommel, Hassrath observed, “When Qunari are assigned a role they are given a tool of that craft. This is the tool that was given to me. It identifies me to everyone as Ben Hassrath, the Qunari version of your guard. We police, we guard, we enforce, we judge. That is our role in the Qun. Inside the Ben Hassrath are many different kinds of roles, the fact that my tool is a sword tells everyone who sees it that my particular role can and does sometimes require me to kill, so I am trained to do so.” Hassrath paused to lay a hand on the flat of the blade that Truss was holding. “This is my oldest and most trusted friend and will be with me until the day I die. Qunari believe that one’s tool represents your soul, and as such is your most prized possession. Without it you are nothing – a soulless husk that must be struck down. You must guard your tool with the same zeal with which you guard your soul because they are one in the same.”

Truss stared at Hassrath, eyebrows twisted as he considered what he was being told.

“So what you are saying is that I have to take the time to sharpen this sword so that it can become part of me?”

“Yes.” Hassrath nodded as Truss handed him back his sword. “You have to know its every value, know its every flaw. Learn its balance and its weight. You have to become intimate with that weapon in a way that you will never know anyplace else because it will be your soul.”

Truss wasn’t entirely sure he understood, wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to understand but it didn’t escape him that this man had just gifted him with knowledge that few had given about Hassrath. Without comment, he took the soft cloth that Hassrath offered him and wetting it down, began to oil the blade that had been given to him. Hassrath watched without comment, his own blade lying between them, glittering in the light cast by the coal fed fire that still held Truss’s old sword, now glowing bright and warping sadly, already forgotten.

“Your Knight-Commander has explained to me something about your order that is very similar to the Qun,” Hassrath murmured lowly in the silence that had fallen. “That when you are accepted into the order it gifts you with your first equipment and that often you are judged within the order by how you keep that equipment. It is the same in the Qun. Success is based on far more than ability, and apparently that is true outside the Qun as well. You have gone as far as ability can take you within your order. Now it is time for you to put aside those things you have talent for and learn those things that come harder if you wish to continue to succeed.”

Truss paused to lay the sword across his lap and let what Hassrath was saying bounce around in his head a while as he took up the whetstone and applied oil to it.

“Such as?”

“Patience,” Hassrath responded promptly. “You have none. You want what you want and you want it now. You are like a hound with a scent in its nose, chafing at its lead. That will never be the way of a warrior. A warrior knows when to keep himself in check, understands that everything has a time and a place, and knows that sometimes valor is best expressed in a held tongue or in walking away.” When Truss looked to say something, his suddenly high color telling Hassrath he had hit a nerve, he paused, waiting for the protests he could see Truss was dying to express. When instead he clenched his jaw and laid the whetstone to the sword, Hassrath reached out and laid his hand over Truss’s to stop him. “Anger has gotten you this far I know, but it isn’t your ally anymore. It has become your enemy now. It will grow and fester now because it has reached its limit. It will hold you back, it will force mistakes that cannot be rectified. You must put it aside. If you cannot, it will ruin more than just this sword.”

Truss suddenly pulled his hand from Hassrath’s, pushing the sword from his lap to land on the stone floor with an echoing clatter. Standing he walked away from them both and Hassrath watched as he began pacing.

“You don’t understand.”

“I don’t need to.”

“By the Maker what does that _mean_?” Truss stopped to stare at Hassrath. “I am a product of my world as much as you are Qunari! And _do_ _not_ try and tell me that you are not! You are whether you are of this Qun or not- you are! Just because I do not regularly attend services and cannot quote the Chant of Light does not make me less of an Andrastian!”

Hassrath’s mouth snapped shut on the pointed rejoinder that nearly escaped him, one that sounded very much to his mind like the boy’s protests of not understanding and realized something as he did – this little irritant had a point.

“My beliefs are not important here,” he finally replied, standing as he did. “It is yours that are. You believe that in improving yourself you can rub the noses of others in your success. That is not the way it works. You cannot earn respect that way.”

“I’ve done fairly well so far haven’t I?”

“No you haven’t. All they respect is your sword arm and your temper. They do not respect _you_!”

That slowed him down Hassrath saw as Truss suddenly drew back, a flash of pain echoing across his face for the barest of moments before the anger rushed forward to protect that weakened point in the armor he had carefully forged to protect himself from the world.

“I am not your superior, I cannot order you to do anything,” Hassrath finally sighed, leaning down to pick up Truss’s new sword. “All I can do is try and teach you something that was taught to me long ago. This can be your future,” he paused to use the sword to point to the one still warping in the coals, “Or that can be. The choice is yours.”

* * *

Isabela had remained in her cabin until everyone was aboard and when she did emerge she went straight to the aftcastle, shooing Klaton off the wheel. He watched as she barked orders and showed no indication that Fantin’s presence on the ship was a concern to her and Klaton let it be. Fantin himself had boarded with no air of concern either and had gone to the cabin he had been assigned and had not emerged since. Carver, Cullen and Aveline were standing along the forecastle rail, watching and talking as Isabela guided the ship out of the protected harbor of Kirkwall, their people spread along the deck watching as those not used to the sea will. This, Klaton mused, could be worse and very likely might be before this ‘diplomatic mission’ was through.

“I think we might regret becoming entangled in politics,” Isabela muttered, echoing his thoughts.

“Yes,” Klaton agreed lightly, “There is something to be said to answering to no one.”

Isabela snorted indelicately and looked at him through her lashes a moment.

“You answer to me,” she pointed out.

“Yes,” he responded without pause, “Only because you rarely order me about.”

“Oh,” Isabela chuckled at his spirited rejoinder, “Is that why? Then maybe I should start.”

“You can try.”

Isabela just shook her head at him. She knew it to be true, they really did for the most part share command of the ship and she knew that he would not think twice about questioning an order he thought ill advised, though he did have the tact to do it out of earshot of the crew.

“I rarely _have_ to order you about Klaton. Not that I am questioning it, but sometimes I have to wonder why you stay. You have enough tucked away that you could easily buy your own ship.”

Klaton turned to regard her for the first time since the conversation had started, studying her thoughtfully.

“I like it here.”

Isabela tipped her head as she guided the ship into the channel that would take them out into the Waking Sea.

“I can accept that.”

Klaton smiled, an often rare thing and Isabela felt her own mouth tug up at the edges at the sight of it.

“Oh stop smirking at me and go find someone to order around or something,” she laughed, waving him off and watching as he left to wander along the deck, checking that his crew was doing as they had been told, which of course they were. This was, she thought to herself, the best bunch she had ever had under her command and they made it easier for her to do what she had to. That was more to Klaton’s credit than hers since he saw to replacing anyone who left or… died. That was something that Isabela rarely let herself dwell on because there had been a good many men who had died under her command. Larceny in of itself was a dangerous business, piracy more so even given the habit of most Tevinter merchant ships of simply surrendering and allowing themselves to be boarded rather than allowing their ship to be damaged in a fight. Looking around as the ship cleared the channel and entered the Waking Sea, she hoped they weren’t following her into something that was likely to get them all killed.


	49. Chapter 49

Hassrath started awake, blinking violently as he pushed away the fog of the Fade. Sleep had not been his intent when he had sat, leaned against the cool stone wall but it had snuck up and had its way regardless. There had been many hours of arguing and pointed silence during which he had been forced on several occasions to tamp down his own temper in order to logically refute Truss’s. Finally Truss had fallen to a silence though no less pointed, had been far less petulant and Hassrath had left him to his thoughts as he stood staring at the sad remains of what Hassrath considered his childhood, soft and broken in the hot coals. Looking about for the young knight he realized what it was that woke him.

It was the sound of a whetstone to steel in the clinging silence that you only found underground. Truss sat not far from where he had last seen him, close to the firepit. In his hand was the whetstone and he was slowly and rhythmically drawing it across the bright blade. His cheeks were red, eyes even redder and they told a story, one of a not insignificant emotion. Hassrath held his place, not moving or drawing attention to the fact that he was awake and witness to at least this small part in the drama that was playing out inside Truss. Instead he watched with a critical eye, a little surprised that the impatient young man seemed to know what he was doing. Hassrath would have easily believed this man to be the type that would take his sword to a smith to have sharpened and not one to do it himself. By the look of it though, he had a practiced hand.

“My father taught me this,” Truss broke the silence after some minutes, showing he was aware of Hassrath watching him. “He told me that any man worth his mettle would know how to not only fight but to care for his equipment as well. He said that when I was old enough he would teach me to use a sword. But he never did.”

Hassrath let the silence settle again, considering what Truss had said.

“A promise not kept is a black mark but not one against you. By the look of it he did a fine job of teaching you what he did.”

“That he did,” Truss chuckled bitterly, pausing only momentarily in his endeavors. “That he did. I have never sharpened one from scratch this way. It has a… relaxing quality to it. Puts your mind at ease.”

Hassrath grunted his agreement to that assessment and remained silent.

“You know why I joined the Templars? Had nothing at all to do with keeping mages separate or protecting the innocent,” he finally confessed. “It was because they understood and did not judge me. Out there I would have been nothing but a bastard without a future but here I can be as much or as little as I wish and do it with the blessings of both the Templars and the Chantry.”

“It is the same within the Qun.”

“I imagine it is,” Truss replied blithely, “Success or failure seems to be the only freedom you have in your Qun.”

Hassrath snorted shortly.

“There are others but that’s the one that most loomed, yes.”

“And is that why you are here? Because you couldn’t succeed inside the Qun?”

Hassrath cocked his head, trying to decide if he was being baited or not and coming to no firm conclusion.

“No. My measure of success in the Qun was not something I was concerned with.”

“Not like me?” Truss paused to look at the kossith. “You had nothing to prove you mean?”

“No I didn’t. And no one to prove it to. I am what I am and proud to be as much or as little as I am depending on the point of view.” Hassrath sighed heavily. “And that is what it all comes down to in the end – perspective. I am sure I looked less to my superiors but I also looked more to those with less rank. To my perspective I am just fine the way I am and have nothing to prove to either.”

“That doesn’t sound much like any wisdom of the Qun. I thought you told us they wanted you to keep pushing yourself to improve?”

“But it is,” Hassrath replied, considering the human as he turned back to sharpening his sword. “As a child there are a great many tests, some tests you do not even realize are such. The priests do not just test your skills, they test your character as well and your failures tell them more than your successes ever will. I had a priest tell me that after I failed spectacularly at a task - that perspective was a thing to strive for.” Hassrath sighed heavily. “Looking back I think I was meant to fail it, I just took the failure more to heart than was expected.”

“And you found that perspective?”

“Yes I did, and I would not fail nearly so spectacularly today though I probably would still fail.”

“What was the test?”

Hassrath chuckled at the memory.

“I was asked to teach four younger children, those in their fourth year, how to play a game. I just _could_ _not_ figure out how to engage their attention so that they listened when I explained the rules and was frustrated when they made up their own. Before it was over they were… upset, I was upset and they _still_ did not understand the rules. The spectacular part occurred when I lost my temper and made them all cry.” He paused when Truss shot a look that plainly said he wasn’t surprised at him and Hassrath shrugged. “That was when the priests stepped in and I knew I had failed. I was not much older than they were at the time, maybe nine? And I had not failed at any task the way I failed that one and it upset me.”

“You think you would still fail huh?” Truss chuckled, “And here you are, trying to teach Templars?”

“Oh I think I would still fail in teaching small children. Templars,” he snorted indignantly, “Are _not_ small children even if you sometimes _insist_ on thinking like them. If I have to I can pound what little wisdom I might have to impart into your heads with one of those hammers the smiths use. I _have_ perspective enough for _that_!”

Truss threw back his head and laughed at the mental image that brought and after a moment, Hassrath joined him. When they finally both settled back down and the silence again descended it was a much more companionable one with Truss again drawing the whetstone across the edge of the blade in a journey to understand it, himself and possibly even their teacher.

* * *

Vistana nodded politely to the mage that was one of Varania’s many apprentices. She appeared to be very young to be in such a position, but then there was no telling when the Maker would show his gifts to his chosen. And that was very much how Vistana viewed herself and her charges in the Gallows – chosen. Chosen to be bestowed with gifts that no other had and in being given those abilities also chosen to be tested on both sides of the Veil. Without those trials her mages would be no better than the vast majority of the population the Chantry would charge them with devoting their lives to helping – superstitious and very often ignorant as well. She often pitied them their ignorance and even as she envied them it as well.

Vistana was not of common blood, her family one with some rank within the nobility of Ferelden so she had been taught a respect for those beneath her standing early. Her father firmly believed in treating his charges with the same respect that he expected from them because he well understood that his title was a capricious thing, given him not so much by birth as by the sufferance of both the crown and the people. He had learned this the hard way. He had spent a great many years growing up within the camps of King Cailan’s rebel armies after the Orlesian usurper had stripped his father of his titles. He had suffered the same hunger and deprivation the common men around him had and experienced the same loss. He knew himself to be better than his people in name only and had made sure that each of his five children had understood it as well. Vistana had often heard him telling her oldest brother ‘never expect someone to fight for something you aren’t equally willing to die for.’

Varania was staring out the window, lost in thoughts Vistana doubted she would ever share. The return of her brother had made her introspective and from what Vistana knew of the tragic story knew that she would never ask. She had not heard her arrival, instead stood staring out over the view of the gardens her office window afforded. It wasn’t much to look at, trapped in the cold of winter as it was – just bare trees and bushes, flowers hiding beneath the frozen ground waiting for the first hint of warmth in the spring. Varania seemed to see something there that no one else could. Without comment Vistana stepped next to her, looking out over the view but not really seeing it. She could feel the ever present Templar as he stood politely by the door without ever looking. His duty was, he would say, to them – their protection. Vistana supposed he was like that hardened soil, the layer that kept the cold from killing the seeds. Sometimes though, it wasn’t enough to keep it at bay.

“Do you,” Vistana finally asked, her voice kept low and even so as not to carry, “Still hear from Mucin?”

The reaction that wrung from Varania was close to what Vistana had expected. She didn’t move, her expression didn’t even change but her bright green eyes snapped sideways to look at Vistana in surprise. Vistana observed this out of the corner of her own eye as she allowed in a much more conversational tone that though the cold had come early, at least it wasn’t so far a harsh winter so perhaps they could expect an early spring as well. Varania didn’t answer her but did have the presence of mind to nod as though in agreement to her observation. Turning her head to look at her a little more fully, she saw that Varania, though still taken aback that Vistana knew her secret, was agreeing to more than polite conversation. Now that she was actually looking at her, she saw that Varania’s eyes were tired, weariness lined them.

“You should get more sleep,” she observed, again conversationally. “I do not have to be schooled in the healing arts to see that. These old eyes see a great deal more than you might think, probably far more than most.”

Varania nodded and looked back out the window, understanding completely.

“Perhaps it would do you some good to spend time with your brother. There must be a great deal the two of you need to talk about and I know that the two of you have had little time together since he came to the Gallows.”

“He has been helping to train the Templars,” Varania sighed. “I did not wish to distract him.”

Vistana chuckled with honesty, the layers of seriousness in this conversation notwithstanding. Reaching out she took Varania’s hand in her own and squeezed gently.

“While it is true that men are easily distracted, especially by those of us of the softer sex, I have learned over the years that sometimes they need the reminder that some things are more important than duty,” she sighed. “Sometimes even _we_ need reminding of that. Go and see your brother and tell him everything he _needs_ to know about you. And pry from him all the things you need to know from him. He strikes me as one that keeps everything close to the chest.”

 Varania nodded, knowing full well this wasn’t a suggestion - it was in fact the closest thing Vistana could give to an order in the circumstance. She knew she could easily ignore it and nothing overt would come of it, but she also knew that it would bring down the ire of this woman on her. Vistana wanted all the cards on the table, even if it might mean bringing the wrath of the Knight-Commander down on them both. That his rage would burn Varania far more was of little consequence to Vistana.

* * *

Truss held the sword up to the light, looking critically at the edge he had put along the blade. It still needed some work with a finer whetstone to put a cutting edge to it, but the hours of non-stop work he had put in on it had set the blade along its path. Hassrath was again asleep, leaned against the wall and his snores had put a rhythm to his strokes until the task had almost become mindlessly automatic and his thoughts had wandered paths that they had not turned to for a great while. This cold, dark room, empty of everything but their presence and with nothing but their sounds to fill it had faded from his consciousness and in its stead he thought about his mother and their home.

It had not been much really but to Truss it could have been a castle. Tucked in one of the solidly merchant class neighborhoods where, though need was not unknown it was rarely acknowledged as everyone strove to better themselves. Their home had been viewed as modest. Unlike their neighbors who were proud to be able to afford at least a few servants they had none and his mother was proud of _that_. She would tell him that the day she couldn’t clean her own home would be the day they would put her in the ground. And indeed she had made a game of it, dancing as she dusted, singing as she hung laundry in the garden behind the house, hiding little trinkets in the woodpile for him to discover when she sent him out in the cold to fetch it. Those were his fondest memories of her, even now – a free spirit who refused any convention that she chose, whose love for song and dance had pushed her to the theater and whose grace and wit and fair face had made her a moderate success there.

His father he remembered laughing because he had done a lot of that inside those unassuming walls. His father would come in his expensive clothes, bearing gifts and laughter but there was always a starch to him, a distance that now Truss wondered about. As if he always expected this dream to end badly and kept something of himself hidden away from it. Then Truss had just accepted it, that distance, as part of who his father was and lived for those moments of order in his mother’s disordered existence. His earliest memories were in the theater, of being passed from one person to the other as performances were worked out and later staged for the same solidly merchant classes that they lived among and the occasional noble bored with the highbrow entertainment of the more exclusive theaters. When his father came to stay, sometimes just for an afternoon, sometimes for a week or more, Truss would stay at his side, wandering through shops and sometimes left to play with the children of the men that his father had come to Markham to see.

That was how he had come to understand he was a bastard. One of those children had told him so, informing him that his father had a family, one of noble blood and great standing in the city of Ostwick and that his mother was nothing but a woman of no standing, whoring herself for what she could get from a man of means to support herself. When he had asked his father about it he had at least been honest, explaining that yes, he did have a wife and child in Ostwick but no, his mother was not whoring herself for money. Everything they had she had _earned_ , from their simple house to its simple furnishings. She rarely asked anything from him though he had offered many times to help with Truss’s support. He had explained that his mother was a rare find – someone determined to live her life by terms that she herself set down and not by any convention of society and that, he had told him, was why he loved her. She was his breath of fresh air in a life that otherwise was lived trapped by the same conventions she spurned. Truss had not truly understood what he was told that day, too young by far at the time, but the explanation had reassured him that despite what others might think, he was loved.

Then the day came when it all came crashing down around his ears, a personal tragedy that still wounded him to his core. His mother had died. Not a lingering death of sickness, one that gave time for good-byes. A violent one, sudden and ignoble that left nothing but shock and anger in its wake and one that brought _no_ solace. That was his most vivid memory of her, lying in a puddle in the dark alley, grasping at his coat as the theater manager lay nearby, already dead. Unable to breathe for the wound in her chest she had had no last words for him and at first her eyes had been full of fear as he cradled her head and ignored the others as they spilled out of the theater, surrounding them and calling for the guards. But that had changed at the end. He watched as she came to terms with what was happening and as she drew her last breath, he saw only sadness.

The details concerned him less now than they had then. The theater manager had owed money to the wrong people and they had decided to collect, stealing the night’s receipts from him as he left the theater. His mother had chosen the wrong time to decide to follow him, no one knew exactly why. Nor was it known how it ended in violence, but when Truss had gone to find his mother that was what he had found and in a way he had always been happy that he had been there at her last. At least she hadn’t died alone in a dark alleyway with no one to witness but the rats. There had been someone there to mark the passing of a woman who lived by her own terms. Someone who had cared and who missed her still.

It had taken a month for word to be sent and for his father to arrive. No one had been entirely sure what to do with him so one of his mother’s friends from the theater, a simple girl not too many years his senior had stayed at the house with him and the theater’s owner had graciously seen to the funerals of both his employees. Truss had bore it all with a stoicism that his self-proclaimed guardian did not understand and did not share as she often fell to tears at things as simple as the sight of one of his mother’s favorite dresses. The only exception to his stoic demeanor had been when he had overheard two servants from the neighboring house tsking as they gossiped, declaring that it was no surprise to them she had come to such a sad end, what with her disgraceful profession and all. That had lit a rage in the young man Truss had once been that threatened to burn the whole of the street and that never truly died, even now. How dare they judge? Who were they?

And that sullen and angry boy had been what his father had found when he arrived, intent on literally scouring away all the traces of Truss’s life. He was a force that Truss could not stand against. His mother had never spoken of any family of her own and his father was resolute that he could not come to Ostwick with him. So before Truss knew what was happening he had been delivered to the Chantry, sent to an orphanage on the outskirts of Hercinia and, within a year sent to the Circle of Magi of Kirkwall as an initiate to the Templars. Truss often suspected that his banishment from the orphanage had something to do with him being caught countless times trying to run away and so the Mothers had found someplace for him where escape really was not an option – unless of course you were a fish, or maybe a bird.

And at first he had wished it so, resenting everything with equal fervor, angry at everyone for what his life had become. But the Templars were not Chantry Sisters, they refused to tolerate his attitude and after being cuffed more than once and even on one occasion spanked, he learned to tow the line and do as he was told. To his great astonishment, as he learned and observed, he found that his prison wasn’t quite what he thought. That once he learned to keep a hold on his tongue and temper and started paying attention, he was coming to like and respect this… brotherhood with its simple charter. And as he grew older he started to see that this could be a life for him, that he had a talent for the martial portions of the training and that here he was accepted on equal terms with men from all walks, including the noble born. Here he wasn’t a bastard. Here he could have a future and one that would prove to them all he was better than that label. Here he was a Templar and a knight, the youngest ever elevated to that lofty status in all of Kirkwall’s long free history.

Sighing, he laid the whetstone aside and opened a bag of fine sand that Hassrath had silently sat next to him before he had fallen to sleep and with it he scoured the fine bits of steel and stone from the blade before pulling out an oiled cloth to further polish it. He had no way to know how many hours he had worked to get the blade to this stage, but he knew his arm was weary with it, muscles trembling under his skin from the precise angle the stone needed to be held and the constant motion. His eyes were burning with a need to rest, even if only for a few minutes. The fear that if he stubbornly continued he would do this magnificent weapon a damage forced him to concede to his weariness and laying the sword to the side, he stretched out along the stone floor, asleep within moments because his weariness wasn’t just bone deep, it was soul deep.

And this was how Fenris found them both. Led through the maze of tunnels beneath the Gallows by one of the Knight-Captains that were now responsible for the Circle with Cullen’s absence, he had been tasked with checking on the two men. Cullen had told him it was to make sure they had anything they might need but Fenris suspected that what the Knight-Commander really wanted was to make sure they had not killed each other. And in all fairness, Fenris mused to himself as he tapped Hassrath’s shoulder lightly with the back of a finger, it was one possible outcome to locking two very dominate men in a room together. Hassrath came awake instantly and in silence the two men joined Cullen’s man who waited politely outside the door.

“So?”

Hassrath shrugged, not entirely sure if this exercise was having the intended effect because Truss had spent a great deal of the time silent and intent on the task before him. Fenris sighed. Looking at the Knight-Captain shrewdly a moment, Fenris asked exactly how much real world experience did Truss actually have?

“Not much really,” he was told, “Beyond the normal kind of brawling that some of the men get into in Kirkwall sometimes. Actually he tends to get into those kinds of situations quite often. His name is unfortunately not unknown among the Guard.”

Fenris thought that over for a few moments and looked at Hassrath.

“I have an idea…”

* * *

Aveline stood politely away from the conversation that Carver and Sebastian were having. Politics bored her though it permeated everything in her job. She was careful to keep herself informed but also careful to keep herself at a distance. She was not foolish enough not to know that should Carver and Hawke ever be deposed her fate would be sealed with theirs – the least she could expect was to be thrown from her position and demoted. And considering the whispers she heard and the things she had seen both Carver and Cullen were standing balanced on a thin line, one that might at any time bring the wrath of the Chantry down on their heads. She didn’t doubt that their motivations were honest, but the church might not see it in that light considering the state of affairs in other kingdoms. This charge to war had to be a kink in whatever plan they had – it would almost certainly bring more scrutiny from the White Divine.

Turning her glance to the aftcastle, she saw that Klaton was still in command of the ship. He stood watching everything that went on from his position behind the wheel. Isabela had yet to make an appearance but that Aveline had come to expect. It had not taken her long to come to understand the rhythms of the Siren’s Call, that often Isabela stayed at the watch later while Klaton saw to it far earlier. As a matter of fact, Klaton seemed to almost always be present, watching. And his crew seemed similar. They politely kept their distance from their captain’s ‘guests’ unless directly addressed and seemed particularly wary of Fantin and his crony Julyan. She wondered if they had been told that the two seemingly innocuous men were in fact Crows.

Whatever it was that had set Isabela and Klaton on edge at having the Crow master on the ship seemed to be without merit because he had gone out of his way to be the picture of respectability and had in fact spent the better part of the time they had been at sea politely disregarding the barely veiled hostility that Klaton showed him. Isabela ignored the man completely, only once even having addressed him directly and that had been to shoo him out of the way as one of the sails was lowered. The only thing that kept her observant was the obviously amused looks Fantin showered Klaton with when he wasn’t looking.

Something was going on here, something that had raised Klaton’s hackles and that had Isabela showing restraint that Aveline would never had credited her with and it rankled Aveline. As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, Isabela meant something to her. She had been there for Hawke for years, and irritating as she was no one could fault her loyalty. Sighing heavily, she sank back to musing, wondering why it was she felt such responsibility for someone she only vaguely liked.

* * *

When Truss awakened, he lay on his side, stiff from sleeping on a stone floor and for more than a few moments he lay looking at the sword that lay beside him. He had a vague sense of unease plaguing him and knew that even though he could not remember them, his dreams had not been pleasant. Sighing and braced for the inevitable pains he would feel, he sat up and looked around. Hassrath was sitting on the other side of the firepit, its charcoals had been fed with fresh wood and the fire burned bright and hot. Hassrath was sitting still as death itself, his eyes closed, his breathing rhythmic though not in the distinct rhythm of sleep. Truss wondered what it was the kossith was about when the other man’s violet eyes opened and regarded him silently. Unwilling to sit and passively accept the other man’s scrutiny, Truss pulled himself to his feet, stifling a groan at the myriad of aches his body began voicing in protest to the harsh treatment of the floor.

“You have,” Hassrath finally said, his tone approving, “Done a fine job of setting your tool to its ultimate destination. You have served it well.”

Not entirely sure what that was supposed to mean, Truss looked at Hassrath quizzically.

“I told you it was a tool, and it is and always will be. But like everything in this world it has a destiny. That place where it becomes something more than what it is now. First it was nothing more than stone of the earth but someone pulled it from the ground. Someone else forged it, using fire to combine things that would never have come together otherwise to make something new, shaping it to his will. Each of those steps brought it closer to its destiny and each hand that guided it has served it well. Your hand is the one guiding it along the last of that journey and so long as _your_ hand serves it well, it will forever serve you the same.”

Truss considered those words a moment. He had never thought of it in quite that way before but it was a truth that couldn’t be denied. Nodding, he stretched as much of the stiffness as he could from his back until his stomach loosed a long, loud and irritated sound that in the thick silence of the room could not be missed. Laying a hand to it as if hoping to stifle its petulant cry, Truss tried not to look embarrassed. Hassrath chuckled and pointed to two large sacks leaned against the wall next to the door. Truss blinked at them, knowing full well they hadn’t been there before but finally decided it wasn’t worth questioning. Instead he dug through them both, finding food, clothes, and even a couple of blankets. Turning he tossed an apple at Hassrath who caught it automatically, then inspected the red fruit with a critical eye, having never seen one before. Truss stifled a laugh at the suspicious look and turning sat leaned against one of the bags and bit into one of his own.

“Consider it this way,” he smirked at Hassrath, holding up his apple, “This apple’s ultimate destiny is to assuage my hunger, and that one yours.”

Hassrath grunted and bit into the fruit. Blinking at it as he slowly chewed, he finally looked at Truss, who was silently watching and nodded his approval. Smiling and shaking his head Truss finished off his own.

“Tell me about where you come from,” Truss asked suddenly. “I don’t mean the Qun, I mean the place. It has to be different from here.”

“It is.”

“Then tell me about it,” Truss reached into the sack and pulled out some dried meat and once again tossed a portion to Hassrath.

“It is not cold,” Hassrath snorted. “And it is always green, even in the cities. There are public gardens and forests left alone so that all can be reminded that we are not above those things, we are instead a part of them. And few of our cities grow to the sizes that yours do. It is a long held wisdom that too much of any one thing can be a negative influence on those things around it so our cities tend to limit themselves…”

“Is this Seheron you’re talking about?”

“No,” Hassrath sighed, “Par Vollen. I was born there and wasn’t sent to Seheron until later. Seheron is the same in many ways, though its nature is different. Things in Par Vollen have a permanence to them that is mostly lacking in a lot of Seheron. I suppose because the Qun has become entrenched there and need fear no attack. In parts of Seheron there is a constant vigilance because of the war.” He looked at Truss a moment, wondering what this young man thought of war, what any of the basra thought of it. “The threat of attack, by Tevinter or by the constant raiding of the Fog Warriors keeps things simpler there. Often things are built with a thought for their rebuilding because it will in all likelihood need to be.”

Truss considered that a moment.

“Are the Fog Warriors truly that much of a threat?”

“In their own way, yes,” Hassrath nodded. “They are not like a standing army, a thing that you can locate and see. They wage a secretive war, one that ruins crops, burns villages, steals or destroys equipment and food. It is on a smaller scale than fields of battle but the damage is just as great. A man without food or shelter, be he a karasaad or gena, will die so their efforts will necessarily divert resources and attention away from those things they were originally intended.” Hassrath grunted, looking at a scar on the back of his hand, one put there by one of the dusky skinned natives of Seheron. “That they do this equally, harming Tevinter settlements in the same way says something about them. I have known very few to be captured, fewer still to be converted to the Qun. They are a constant frustration to every part of the Qun.”

Truss chuckled, a hint of irony in the sound and Hassrath glanced at him.

“Scrappy bunch in other words. Sounds to me like no matter who takes Seheron in the end they will be dealing with the natives for a long time.”

“I think,” Hassrath sighed thoughtfully, “That it would take leveling every tree on the island to find them, and even then you are likely to miss some. They are masters of shadows, can disappear into the forest like they are a part of it, the same as the tigers or boars.”

“How romantic,” Truss grunted. “I suppose the novels one finds about them are not far off the mark then.”

Hassrath looked at the younger man oddly. ‘Romantic’ was not a concept Hassrath understood so he didn’t comment. Every day he was constantly reminded that he was an outsider here, a rarity that either invoked curiosity or outright fear in those around him, but it was in moments like this he was reminded that in some things the differences were both not so much as they appeared and far greater than any mountain. He wondered if he would ever come to understand these people. They were not so simple as the Qunari would have you believe.

“Tell me of where you come from.”

Truss looked at Hassrath a moment, trying to decide the other man’s motives but eventually decided he had started this conversation and the question was a fair one.

“For the most part you are looking at it. I was sent here after my mother died and been in the Gallows for the better part of a decade now.”

‘Mother’ was another concept that Hassrath did not fully understand, but this time he decided he would inquire.

“Mothers are the females that gave you birth correct?” When Truss nodded, his look a little guarded, Hassrath continued, keeping his voice as neutral as he could because he could sense this woman had something to do with the pain this young man guarded with anger. “And here they are tasked with raising the children they birth?”

“Yes. Is it not so in the Qun?”

“No, it is not. Children are taken and raised by the priests of the Tamassran.”

“So you don’t know your mother?”

Hassrath shook his head and Truss regarded him a moment before shaking his head.

“How sad.”

“Not really,” Hassrath grunted. “I was raised in a community, one of both children and a great many adults that were not only tasked to see to my education but also to my character. That may sound to you like it was lacking but it wasn’t. Children are the same world over - they need guidance and a firm hand. I find it amazing that so few are given a responsibility so great.”

“Yes but my one mother…” Truss struggled to find the words, “She was… well… my world I guess. And she didn’t raise me alone, not by a long shot. She had friends, friends that would see to me when she couldn’t for some reason. They cared about me too you know.”

Hassrath considered that. It was not something that had occurred to him – that others were available to help. This society was entirely capricious and complex to his mind.

“And my experience has not been an average one,” Truss complained, admitting to something he had often thought to himself while listening to the others tell stories of home. “I only had my mother and at times father. Most people grow up with whole families there – aunts, uncles, cousins, sisters and brothers as well. My mother had no family but she had friends who were _like_ a family to us. Some of them still write me, some of them care even now what has become of me.”

Hassrath held up a hand, again confused.

“Aunts? Cousins?”

Truss sighed, the spark of anger gone as he realized Hassrath truly did not understand even the basic familial unit. He sighed, trying to decide how you would go about explaining something that he himself had very little experience with to someone who had none. Backtracking a little he decided to start simple.

“All right,” he started, “Do Qunari marry?”

“That is when a male and female pledge themselves to one another?” When Truss nodded Hassrath shook his head. “No, not in the same way. Hawke has tried to explain this to me. That the two pledge themselves and it is recognized by your Chantry and they are expected to live and breed together and with no one else - this I understand of your society. In the Qun you are pledged to your service to the Qun above all else. Nothing is more important than your role because the good of all depends on this. But we are not stone, we feel the same things as you and the people around you can come to mean a great deal.” Hassrath paused and sighed, his voice taking on a wistful tone. “A great deal indeed.”

Truss’s eyebrow cocked up and he tipped his head as he took that in. When Hassrath didn’t volunteer Truss decided to leave it alone.

“Well at least you understand that much. Now this man and woman get married and they have a male child – that child will be their son. And a few years down the line they have another baby – this one a girl. That child will be their daughter.” Hassrath nodded slowly. “Now to the male child the female one is a sister and the male one to her is a brother. And all of them together make up a family. Now this is where it can get complicated.” Hassrath sighed, what about these people wasn’t? Truss didn’t seem to notice. “When those children grow up, they get married, and have children of their own. To her children her brother is their uncle and to his children his sister is their aunt. And the children of their uncle and aunt are their cousins to each other.” When Hassrath’s forehead furrowed deeply Truss knew that he had lost him and he repeated it again, this time slower. “ _That_ is an extended family. And in a lot of cases extended families live together or very close by. It can actually be even more complicated than that but that kind of gives you the idea. The point is that the woman is very rarely completely responsible for her children. There are other family members around who will help raise and teach and discipline those children.”

Hassrath nodded, still thinking this system capricious but it made a little more sense to him now, though how in the world these people kept track of this ‘extended family’ was beyond him. Looking at Truss, his forehead still furrowed as he considered everything Truss had said, he finally asked, “You said you only had your mother, and only _sometimes_ your father? And that she had none of this extended family?”

“Sometimes it happens that way. I don’t know anything about my mother’s family, have no idea what happened to them.”

“And your father?”

Truss sighed. He had hoped Hassrath would be distracted.

“My father and mother were not married.”

Hassrath could hear in Truss’s tone this was something… not normal.

“And this is a concern why?”

“It isn’t something that the Chantry approves of. My father was married, but not to my mother.”

“Ah,” Hassrath nodded, starting to get the idea how. “So your father had pledged himself to a woman and was breaking that vow with another. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Truss snorted. “I was a child and that is not the kind of thing a child asks. It is bad enough to realize you are a bastard.”

“Now that term I have heard and I do not understand it though I have gathered it is derogatory. Just what exactly is a ‘bastard’?”

“I am,” Truss grunted, a bitter quality to his voice. “Any child that is born out of wedlock is a bastard.”

“But a child is a child, regardless of the status of its parents. What good comes of labeling it?”

“Nothing,” Truss remarked, “Nothing at all. But it is a name that will follow me the rest of my life, at least outside these walls. Here it is of no import at all and frankly few know about it. Out there? It would matter.”

Hassrath did not understand and suspected that he never would - by this definition the whole of the Qun were ‘bastards’. Even without complete understanding he was coming to understand this hurt that Truss was guarding so carefully. He shook his head and regarded Truss levelly. The young man was staring at his hands and avoiding looking at him and it did not escape Hassrath that in explaining these things to him Truss had opened himself to whatever judgment it was he seemed to be expecting.

“That your mother took on your care alone was a brave thing,” Hassrath observed levelly. “That your father broke a vow to be with her was not. However, that your _society_ seems to deem it fit to hold you responsible for _their_ action is wrong. All should be judged on their own merits alone.”

Truss sighed. If only it were so.

“But I have a question for you,” Hassrath remarked as he unfolded himself and stood, offering a hand out to Truss. “You have pledged yourself to the Templars, correct?”

Truss nodded as he took the much larger hand held out to him.

“And you have said that here, within these walls, this derogatory title means nothing?”

Truss nodded again as Hassrath pulled him to his feet, adding, “Here it doesn’t matter who or what you were before because now we are all Templars.”

“Then why does it so bother you?”

Truss had no answer and Hassrath had suspected as much. Without further comment, he pointed at the sword Truss had worked so hard on. Truss, feeling way too uncomfortable in this conversation decided that he wouldn’t protest. Hassrath watched in silence as he again took up the task of creating his tool, weapon and soul, confident that his simple observations would leave a mark.

* * *

“No!”

The word was as sharp as a thunderclap and echoed in the high vaulted ceilings of the sparring grounds with equal fervor. All the knights present froze and regarded their elven trainer expectantly. Fenris stalked past several of the sparring pairs, honing in on the man whose offense had sparked the sharp word. Stepping between him and his partner, who wisely retreated out of the way, Fenris glared at the man who had drawn his ire.

“You are too slow. Remember, not every Qunari are kossith. Some are elven, some are human. Dwarves and Fog Warriors are a rarity but they _do_ exist. Do not assume that your opponent will be a big lumbering brute. Do not assume it even if your opponent _is_ kossith. They are as varied as every other race and they _all_ have tricks you can’t even imagine up their sleeves.” Reaching out he pulled the man’s shield from him. “And do not assume that this can stop them, or even slow them down. I’ve seen men’s arms broken by a solid strike on one of these. These are no mages you face. They are men of conviction, one that cannot be swayed.”

“Is that to say that mages are not men of conviction?” The voice was light, melodious in its gentle echoes.

Fenris paused at the sight of Varania standing alone, her Templar guard having decided here he didn’t need to be precisely with her had stopped to stand by the door. She looked out of place and seemed to know it because she stood with her hands clasped before her, eyes warily taking in the men with weapons drawn before her. Dropping the shield he held he regarded her a moment, letting the silence in the room echo louder than the sharpest scream while he wondered why she was here.

“No,” he finally answered, “Mages can have as much conviction as any other man. But it is not of the same type.”

“And what type is it we have?”

Fenris considered that question a moment, keeping his audience in mind as he did.

“In Tevinter their convictions were for power, the garnering of it and keeping of it, both personal, political and for the greatness they see their society as. Admittedly I have less experience with mages outside of that prevue. Here they have no opportunity for power _or_ greatness.”

“Ah,” Varania replied with a forced lightness as she advanced with silent steps closer to the ring he stood in. “I see. Then how do you explain your Marian Hawke? She has both power and greatness, enough so that she stayed the hands of two Knight-Commanders and for a time ruled this city.”

Fenris sighed, handing the shield back to its owner.

“Hawke is different, an aberration. They exist in every society, even that of mages.”

“Are you so sure? Is it not possible that any mage, given the opportunity would make the same choices that she herself did?” Varania smiled gently, the same gentleness that shown in her eye to tell him it was an honest question and not the attack it could be easily taken as. “She strove for power and greatness, she did not have it handed to her. That she is a mage was beside the point.”

“You are right – it _is_ beside the point. She strove for nothing more than to protect those she cared about,” Fenris pointed out as he guarded his expression. “She did what she had to and in the end it came with a price – power and greatness. And when she had nothing left she turned her back on both did she not? She left the one thing she had remaining to protect with someone more capable. Kirkwall made her question her convictions but in the end she learned there was nothing wrong in wanting to protect that which you most care about. _That_ is why she is here.”

 “And you?” Varania asked in her harmonious voice, tipping her head to regard him thoughtfully. “What convictions do _you_ have? You are an escaped Tevinter slave, one that has no reason to love the land that gave you birth and yet here you are, teaching Templars how best to come to the aid of that same government that allows such atrocities as what happened to the both of us? You stand prepared to defend the same Magisters that created you even though you profess no love for them? Explain this to me.”

“I need not explain anything to anyone Varania,” Fenris growled, now starting to feel the pinpricks she was delivering so gently. “I am here for her, nothing more and nothing less. My loyalty is not easily won.”

“And neither is your heart,” Varania agreed sadly. “And it is a shame that it is so.”

Fenris suddenly felt tired. He wished he had more time so that the relationship they had so recently rekindled would grow and the need for such hard questions put aside. Looking at her quizzically, ignoring the vague ache her questions had caused and wondering why she had chosen such a public forum for them, he finally asked, “Why are you here?”

“I wish to have a word with you but did not know your exact schedule,” she admitted, “I can come back later if you wish.”

“No,” Fenris sighed, waving at the knights that they should continue their sparring, “Now is as good a time as any.” Pausing to look at the man he had been lecturing his weariness disappeared. “And do not think I will not be watching.”

Varania chuckled as Fenris directed her to a set of benches that put them out of earshot of the assembled Templars but still allowed him a view of their endeavors, shooting a shrewd look at him.

“Danarius wasted you as a bodyguard,” she observed as he sat. “He would have been better served to put you in charge of his household guard. You have a knack for command.”

Before he could put a lid on it, Fenris felt a blush color his face.

“Danarius didn’t want a commander, he wanted a _pet_ ,” Fenris responded, his voice harsher than he had intended because she had so easily caused him to lose his footing and the ever present pool of bitter anger he normally ignored reared its ugly head, “One to match his own power. At first I had no thought to defy him - I was his creature, his plaything. Once he finally pushed me past my limits he found even more pleasure in knowing that something that could easily and happily kill him was _still_ completely under his control.” Fenris stopped abruptly, looking away from the surprised expression on Varania’s face. “Marian once compared me to a caged tiger, a dangerous thing that was kept simply because it was possible, consequences be damned.”

“That was unfair of her,” Varania gasped, surprised by the admission.

“No, it was fair,” Fenris sighed. “She was not far wrong. Had I ever been given the opportunity I would have ripped Danarius’s beating heart from him, using the very power he cursed me with to do it. And I would have taken more pleasure in doing it than he ever got from subjugating me.” Pausing to look at his sister, taking in the sad expression his admission had wrung from her, he allowed his guard to drop and knew she could plainly see the weariness this anger caused. “I’m sorry.”

Varania could see he was apologizing for far more than simply snapping and she reached out to lay her hand over his.

“No, I’m the one who is sorry.”

Fenris nodded, looking back out at the knights for a long moment before turning to regard his sister with a shrewd look.

“So why is it you have come to the one place you know we _might_ have a private conversation away from the prying ears of Templars?”

Varania sighed.

“I need you to do something for me but I am not sure you are going to like it.”

Fenris cocked an eyebrow at her and waited in silence.

“You see, I… I have a friend that Vistana thinks I should get in contact with but I can’t do it through normal channels.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Vistana sighed, looking down at her hand still covering his, “He’s an apostate.”

Fenris took that in without moving, knowing his silence would press her to confess the rest.

“And he’s part of the mage rebellion as well.”

* * *

Truss had taken to his task in silence, one that Hassrath hoped meant that he was considering things and in the quiet Hassrath had fallen into his own reverie of thought. As much as he had made points for the young knight to consider the truth was he had _also_ made points that Hassrath felt compelled to examine. It was, and even he had to admit the irony of this, the Qunari way. When confronted with evidence or theory or even opinion that refuted even long held belief it was expected that instead of ignoring it in favor of tradition one was to consider carefully the view.  The Qun accepted that there were truths out there that even they did not know and the Qun’s ability to understand, adapt and in some cases even incorporate those truths were in essence the secret to its success.

In a fit of anger Truss had insisted that he was indeed Qunari even if both he and the Qun now labeled him Tal Vashoth. It was true that he still struggled with his training, with the way he had been taught and with the way that he even now still viewed the world around him. The Qun above all else embraced order, it was a gift that was given to every Qunari from the day they were born and was a gift that both Hassrath and Maraas had rejected upon leaving the certainty of existence inside the Qun. He had seen glimpses of order inside the chaos outside - indeed the basvaraad, these ‘Templars’ had a version of it within their ranks, as had the Fog Warriors and the crews aboard the ships he had spent time on. But even there room was allowed that could easily result in the anarchy that could ensue when differing views were allowed to coexist. This ‘Meredith’ that even in death held such sway in the hearts of those she had touched spoke to that. That her views and in some cases methods as the story had been explained to him, so very closely matched those of the Qun when dealing with mages sometimes made him uncomfortable in ways he could not explain, even to himself.

Magic was not something that most Qunari ever dealt with, even on a social level. Mages were something that were rarely seen, more rarely still interacted with in any meaningful way. They were an abstract, entities to fear and things not open for complete understanding. It was trusted that the Qun knew what was best, same as it knew what was best for basra that it was constantly incorporating into its ranks. There was no question, there was no doubt.

But Hassrath, for all his nervousness of magic and those that funneled it into this world and his fear of the demons of the Fade, both instilled and solidified by doctrine and not experience, had trouble looking at the mages around him here inside this fortress and fearing _them_. Most seemed small creatures, as nervous of him as he was of them. Hawke herself, for all the strength he had seen in her seemed as nervous of her own abilities as those around her could ever be. And this made him question the long held wisdom that mages were necessarily evil. Hawke was not a ravening monster and neither were the mages he saw everyday here inside the Gallows. He knew the threat was there, that it _could_ happen but was the possibility of possession by a denizen of the Fade sufficient to excuse the brutal means by which the Qun _automatically_ dealt with its mages?

But by the same token was the Templar way the answer either? The mage rebellion that was raging in parts of Thedas and the Templar rebellion in response seemed to say no but even that was in question, proofed by the mages and indeed Templars that continually threw themselves at the mercy of Cullen, begging to be given a place inside the system that their brethren fought so vehemently against. It was a question Hassrath had been wrestling with ever since its introduction and still he found no satisfactory answer.

Just as Truss’s assertion that he was indeed still Qunari had no satisfactory answer for Hassrath. His constant struggle with the dogma of the Qun here in this world of ambiguity was proof to that. So much of what he had been taught had no place here, no value here, or at least none that he could see. The Starkhaven Prince had asserted that abandoning the tenets of the Qun might not be strictly necessary but how could that be when everywhere he looked he saw things that had no place in the Qun but very much had a place in _this_ society. Even Truss was proof of that. His standing in this Theodosian culture, this label ‘bastard’ that so upset him though Hassrath suspected it had more to do with being abandoned by the very people that he seemed to have expected to always be there, said much to that.

He didn’t feel Qunari because questions plagued him, doubts vexed him and he could see the merits of arguments that until he came here he would have never considered. But he didn’t feel Tal Vashoth either. He did not see himself as an unbeliever, even for his doubts. He didn’t feel as if he fit into the unpredictability and confused existence here. How was he to understand his place when he didn’t understand his own existence inside it?

He unconsciously sighed heavily and in the silence between his strokes with the whetstone Truss heard it. Without looking up from what he was doing he paused.

“I know that sound,” he said lightly. “That is the sound of a troubled mind. I know, I’ve made it often enough myself.”

Hassrath regarded the younger man from out of the corner of his eye as Truss continued in his task again. It had not been phrased as a question, instead as a statement that needed no reply and Hassrath understood that Truss was not expecting one. Grunting, he decided it was a good thing because it saved him from telling this cheeky knight that he needed to focus on his own issues and not concern himself with Hassrath’s.

“Tell me something,” Truss paused thoughtfully a moment. “What made you think that you could teach me anything?”

“Nothing.”

Truss paused to look at Hassrath a moment, studying the bigger man’s profile before going back to drawing the whetstone along the sword.

“Truly?”

“Did I not just say it?” Hassrath sighed. “I do not know what you have come to expect here but I do not lie.”

“Oh I didn’t think you lied,” Truss chuckled. “I just have a hard time believing it. You don’t really like me I know that, but here you are all the same, locked away in the basement of the Gallows trying to make me understand something that you have no idea if I will be able to grasp. In much the same way you do not seem able to comprehend things about me.”

“What?” Hassrath cocked his head at Truss, considering thoughtfully what he had just said. “Do you think I don’t understand anger? It is no stranger to me. The difference is I think where I look for solace.”

“Oh? And where do you find that?”

Hassrath chuckled but didn’t answer right away. When Truss shot him an irritated look, Hassrath shrugged.

“I found it within the Qun.”

“Ah,” Truss shrugged, the sound pregnant with the things he did not say.

“Yes,” Hassrath sighed, a little irritated and unable to say why. “The Qun is a great many things, but completely without merit is not one of them Andrastian. Tell me, what is it that your prophetess had to say about anger?”

“Specifically? I don’t know,” Truss admitted. “I told you I do not regularly attend services, which I admit is not the way it should be but there it is.”

“Then perhaps you should find out.”

“Well what does the Qun say about it?” Truss shot back, a little heat behind the challenge.

“He who angers you, conquers you,” Hassrath fired back promptly, his tone deceptively light.

Truss froze for a moment before shaking himself and returning to his silence. Hassrath stifled a satisfied grunt, knowing it would just provoke him again and he would use that to ignore the wisdom in the words he had just heard. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Truss sat regarding the sword he had spent so much time working on, at the scars the whetstone had put to the shine of the metal as it shaved tiny fractions off. Each wound the stone did brought it closer to its edge, brought it closer to what it was made to be. That sword was speaking if Truss had the ear to hear it and he wondered in that tense, quiet moment what it was saying to him. Just as he began to think Truss was not going to understand, the younger man sighed, a sad sound that touched something inside Hassrath that he hadn’t suspect this man capable of. But he said nothing, instead began working the stone against the metal once more.

* * *

Varric cursed. Shrawn couldn’t help a smile at the long, creatively vulgar string of descriptors he ripped loose with when she asked on his return why Fenris had so abruptly summoned him to the Gallows. He had told her before his departure that it couldn’t be anything good, that the weeks that had passed in relative quiet since the meetings that had set the other’s on their path were sure to be ended now because if he was any judge of a written word, even one as shaky as Fenris’s, then he was about to be given something to do he wasn’t going to enjoy. Obviously, she mused to herself as she waited for him to finally run out of steam, he had been correct in his assumptions. When he finally sat heavily in the dwarven sized chair she had bought him after it became apparent that he was going to be staying on the Wolf of Rivain far more than he ever was on the Siren’s Call, he fell to silence a moment before looking at her, his expression very put out.

“I think I can learn to hate that man,” he finally ground out.

Shrawn stifled her smile, finding it more than a tad amusing to see the easy going dwarf she found herself incredibly fond of suddenly looking prickly and sour. Cocking an eyebrow at him she wasn’t entirely surprised when he was off and running again.

“He wants me to find someone, and not just any someone,” he waved his arms dramatically, “No an ‘any someone’ would be so much simpler and less likely to get my balls shot off. He wants me to go to find an apostate mage, one that is _apparently_ a big deal in the mage rebellion, that he _thinks_ is in Ferelden, _possibly_ hiding in the area of Lothering, someplace called the Wilds of something or other.”

Shrawn, Fereldan by birth, suddenly didn’t feel much like smiling anymore.

“The Korcari Wilds?” she gasped. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Varric, who had never set foot in Ferelden, looked at Shrawn closely, noting that she was less shocked by the ‘apostate’ and ‘mage rebellion’ parts as she was the location.

“Yeah, why?”

* * *

Fenris blinked. It was one of the few times in a life spent insulated against surprise that something honestly startled him. None of it showed on his face though – life had long ago shown him that it was often best to keep your thoughts to yourself. So when he cocked his head and regarded Hassrath carefully the larger man had no idea that what he had just asked of his friend was anything different than asking the time of the day.

“Why do you want a copy of the Chant?”

“Is that what it is called?” Hassrath sighed, glancing over his shoulder at Truss who was sitting on the other end of the room ignoring them both. “He says he is an adherent but knows none of the tenets of his own faith. This makes no sense to me. How can one believe in something without knowledge of what it is you believe in? How can you fight for something you do not understand? He cannot even explain simple things and I think it is time he learns. If he is going to spend his life in service to this Chantry then he needs to understand what it is he is defending.”

Fenris looked at Truss for a long moment before nodding. What Hassrath said was true. Belief was something that Fenris lacked, but it was something that he could respect in others when he could see it was honest. He knew from experience that it wasn’t strictly necessary that Truss be a believer in order to do any of the things that the Templars would ask of him but he also knew from years of standing to the side watching that those with belief often bore the weight of life with an easier mind. Perhaps it would help him put aside the past and learn to face a future without those burdens.

“I will see to it,” he told Hassrath, knowing full well that the kossith had no idea what it was he was asking. Maraas had told Hawke that books were readily available inside the Qun, especially those texts that dealt with the teachings of the Qun itself. That literacy was expected, often required and was one of the main reasons that the Qun viewed the peoples of Thedas as inferior because literacy was far from a requirement for those not in the upper classes, sometimes not even there. Hassrath did not understand that the Chant of Light was just that, a chant – a spoken word meant to draw devotees to Andraste’s grace. Printed copies existed but were rare and exceedingly expensive and finding one might prove… difficult.


	50. Chapter 50

Fenris sighed, looking around the grand hall that was the public heart of the Chantry of Kirkwall. It was so much simpler than the Chantry of Minrathous which he had seen often during the years he had faithfully followed his master. There, high vaulted ceilings and arched windows housed centuries old murals and statues – even the floor was a mosaic masterpiece of what Fenris supposed was inspirational art. Here, things were more austere and he wondered to himself if that was a reflection of the two churches or if it was just something that spoke to the character of Kirkwall itself, especially after the absolute destruction of the city’s religious center so recently. He didn’t know it for fact but he figured the rebuilding of the Chantry must have started as quickly as possible. It would have been something that Hawke herself would have been tasked with as the newly appointed Viscount and he could not picture her allowing such a scar to not only the city but to herself be left unchecked for long. Even now over a decade later the building continued, evidenced by scaffolds in places along the exterior.

These were Fenris’s first trips into Kirkwall on his own. Though he wasn’t required to remain inside the Circle as Hawke was, he had not chosen to go explore the city for a number of reasons – one being that he understood very well that word of his presence here could very easily find its way back to Minrathous. Here he might be considered a free man but there he was little more than escaped property and he would not put it past Hadriana to decide to reclaim what Hawke had essentially stolen from her inheritance. He did not fear a confrontation with her, some things inside him would openly welcome the chance to spit in her face, but he also knew this was not the time and Kirkwall was not the place. Better his presence go unnoticed by those Tevinters he saw as he followed the Sister that had been tasked with seeing to the religious teachings of the Circle of Magi.

It had not taken long for him to realize that the book he sought was not a permanent resident of the large chapel kept in the Circle, nor were those that saw to it. Until this he had simply noted the chapel’s existence, one of the public spaces that populated the first floor of the Gallows and paid little attention to it or those that labored there in the Maker’s name. He had always viewed religion with a jaundiced eye, something that Danarius had encouraged without realizing it by using the Chantry as just another platform for his political and social agendas. Priests were often visitors to his estates and out of the public view there was often little about them that anyone would consider ‘holy.’ Exceptions existed but for the most part they were more than happy to latch onto Danarius’s robes and throw any weight they might have behind his schemes. Perhaps it was different elsewhere, but in Minrathous the Chantry was as influential as the Senate, its Black Divine as powerful as the Archon himself.

Each day a small flock of the holy traveled to the Circle of Magi, and each day they brought with them the Chant of Light. Each night they returned to the Chantry in Kirkwall and the book would return with them. That complicated things considerably for Fenris. He did not trust these people, did not trust their motives nor their politics much less their ability to understand his need, especially considering he was himself what they would consider a non-believer. And with Cullen gone he had no confidence in his ability to convince them to allow him any access to the book at all.

The truth was he could very well believe in a Maker, could very well imagine some grand hand behind everything he saw and could find no room in his heart for such a being as the Chantry described it. He had seen too much, experienced too much and by his own hand done far too much to forgive a Maker that would look away from such things. Fenris regarded the only truly ornate thing in the main hall – the statue of Andraste – for a long moment as worshipers passed politely around him following the evening service. He held no illusions about what judgment he would receive by such an entity should it exist – some things weren’t forgivable.

“She’s quite lovely isn’t she?”

Fenris started out of his reverie and glanced at the woman who had stepped up beside him. She was in simple robes that showed her to be one of the many that had pledged service to Andraste without yet pledging to the Chantry itself. She looked younger than he but there was something subtle in the way she stood, in the manner of her light Orlesian accent that spoke to experience. Fenris studied her a moment as she gazed up at the statue before nodding silently. Best not to encourage her.

“She was a gift you know,” she offered, completely unperturbed by his silence. “Most of the craftsman that came to rebuild the Chantry after… what happened were sent by various kingdoms out of respect for those that died. Most are still here all these years later, still working to rebuild what it took but a heartbeat for a mage to destroy. They are happy to do it, but it is to be the labor of a lifetime. But _she_ was a gift from the White Divine herself, taken from the Grand Cathedral in Orlais and brought here to a more humble home. I like to think that Andraste would approve.”

Fenris considered her words silently and could see that it would make sense. The burden of rebuilding such a place after it was leveled so completely as the stories told would be a hard tax to bear for any city. It was one he was sure the devoted would gladly pay but the devoted spanned the greater part of the known world didn’t they? And their own beliefs would push them to contribute to the need of those left with nothing. It was possible that even the book he was here to steal was one such gift. That thought rankled something inside him, something that knew what he was about to do was wrong. He glanced at the woman next to him but she seemed more interested in studying the statue.

“Perhaps you are right and she would approve of her new home. Let us hope it is always so.”

Broken from her reverie, she smiled at him and though that smile lit up her face it made Fenris nervous of her because it didn’t quite light her eyes the same way. Without further comment she bowed her head to him and turned away, her red hair disappearing into the crowd. Fenris looked back at the statue a moment before moving away, intent of finding someplace to hide.

* * *

Isabela sighed, leaned against the rail and lost in thought. With the setting of the sun the winds had died, dropping them into a dead calm that she hoped only lasted until light. There was sometimes no telling about these things in the Waking Sea. The weather here was fickle, something sailors had learned long ago to simply deal with as part and parcel of the challenge of making their living on its waters.  But when it was like this there was sometimes something almost magical – so calm that the light of the moon sparkled along the gentle waves in the dark, nearly as bright as the stars the Maker had littered the sky with. Almost like the heavens had come to earth.

It had been a night like this that her reservations had finally gotten the better of her and she had made the fateful decision to mutiny against Castillon. She had suspected the cargo of the ship she had been assigned to escort held more than just the normal contraband after seeing just what its crew had taken on and, more fatefully, taken off at one of the dockings along the way to what was their ultimate destination – Tevinter. It had taken her another week to decide she wanted no part in what was happening and had only been waiting for the next scheduled docking to turn her back and leave. Castillon would not be pleased but she didn’t fool herself – she could be easily replaced.

But on that quiet night, standing watch like she was now, the sea as silent as ever it got and sparkling with barrowed light, she could _hear_ them. She could hear as they screamed, crying out against some abuse that the slaver’s crew was leveling against them and it reminded her of a time when she had been equally helpless to save herself. No one had come to her aid then, indeed she had paid for what aid she had received from the elven Crow, had continued to pay for some time after though she had been happy to do it. As hard as she tried to turn her back on it, harden her heart against it, those pitiful cries had forced her to understand deep inside herself that helpless as she had been, she’d had advantages those people did not. They had escaped a fate worse than death only to be deceived. The fate that waited them was life, but life at what price?

That was when her plans for a small defiance had turned to actions of utter disloyalty. Calling her crew together it had not taken much to rouse their own outrage – a fair portion of her crew were, in fact Fereldan at the time. And in the quiet blackness that fell when the moon was hidden by clouds, they had taken the slaver ship, creeping in like the thieves they now truly were and ripping from Castillon his sovereign. Over the course of two days they turned the Fereldans loose, so many at a time so they would be harder to recapture and after they had emptied the holds, they scuttled the ship, watching until it sank beneath the waters, never to haunt the Waking Seas again.

And so it had began, this journey that had lead her here, to this place and this night. There had been many a night between now and then when she had regretted that decision bitterly. Had in fact cursed herself for a fool for allowing the situation to find that soft spot in her rock-solid armor and turning what had for a few years been a comfortable existence on its ear. Slavery in of itself meant nothing particular to her, even now. But those people had not only been stripped of the right to choose they had never been given it to begin with and that offended something inside her to this day. Now, all these years later, with more perspective behind it, she knew she would never regret it again.

“Such a serious expression,” a voice floated over the deck, shattering not only the silence but also her reverie as sure as a Qunari cannon shot. “One would think you had the weight of the world on your shoulders and not just the simple command of a ship.”

Isabela felt herself stiffen and was sure he saw it as well. Refusing to give him any satisfaction she remained as she was, her back to him though the scene before her was nothing she saw anymore.

“To me, Crow, this ship _is_ the world so that simple command might as well be that weight,” she admitted with a lightness she did not feel. She knew that eventually this would happen – her ship was far too small for her to avoid him completely and odds were that they would meet with no one else about. “What do you want Fantin?”

“Ah,” he intoned seriously, “A question rife with potential. I want a great many things, Isabela. Power, influence, the thrill of victory….”

“What do you want _from_ _me_?” Isabela cut through the bullshit, finally leveling a look over her shoulder at the elf behind her. He stood closer than she had thought, not a few paces away leaned against crates with his arms crossed. “What is it you want from me?”

Fantin chuckled and looked up at the stars.  “Sometimes I can almost understand the allure of the sea. It usually only lasts until the first storm though.”

“Then you don’t understand her,” Isabela fired back testily.

Fantin’s look took on a sharp edge as his eyes snapped back to her.

“Oh, I understand her just fine,” he replied lightly. “I just usually don’t care much for her is all.” He paused to study her a moment, seeing plainly she was unhappy with his company and not really caring a whit. “She is far too temperamental for my tastes.”

“That’s funny,” Isabela sighed, looking away to study her own hands laid on the rail. “I would never have taken you for the type that liked compliance.”

“Oh, compliance has its place, much the same as defiance, Isabela. Relishing a challenge is something we share, though the arenas we choose are very different. You chose this,” he suddenly appeared at her side and Isabela had to struggle not to start because she had not heard him move. “I chose even more turbulent waters.”

“Politics? That’s not turbulence,” she countered. “That’s nothing but wallowing in filth someone else created.”

Fantin took the insult with a tight smile.  “I was not referring to politics although you are right, it does often amount to that. No,” he sighed, “I was referring to the tumultuousness that exists in each of us. I strive to understand it and to use it to whatever end best suits my goals. For example, did you know that your first has been carefully guarding you since my arrival? I am still trying to figure out when it is that he sleeps. Even now he is watching from the shadows waiting for me to do something. Tell me, why would he do such a thing?”

Isabela could not in that moment decide if what he told her made her feel better about this situation or worse. It would not be beyond Fantin to create a situation that Klaton felt bound to intercede in knowing full well that even as good a swordsman as he was, Klaton would stand no chance against him. But if that were the case then why would he be pointing his presence out?

“I am his captain, Fantin,” she finally pointed out, turning her head to look at him fully. “It is his duty and Klaton takes duty seriously.”

“Oh,” Fantin chided, “I don’t know about that. He’s turned his back on duty before.”

“Are you referring so roundabout to his refusing to leave this ship when I took it?” she asked, for once not feeling her footing to be slippery in this conversation. “Or are you referring to the fact that in doing it he refused some duty to his brother?”

“Ah,” Fantin smiled as he drew that sound out, “So you know about that. And both he and Castillon were so circumspect about it. A wasted effort I see.”

“I know more than you might think, Fantin,” Isabela straightened, deciding this conversation needed to end. “I need to walk the rounds and frankly? I don’t want any company. Go back to your room, Crow.”

Before Isabela could turn away, Fantin snatched her hand, brushing his lips across the knuckles. His face was serious but his eyes held hers amused. She was sure it was because she had the audacity to be giving orders to a man that had more of the power he claimed to crave in his pinky than she ever would and they both knew it. But without comment he did as she asked, leaving her to disappear into the shadows. She listened as his footsteps retreated and the door to the lower decks closed behind him. Sighing, she stood a moment and considered what he’d had to say and counted herself lucky that nothing had happened.

“Klaton,” she finally snapped into the silence that fell behind his departure, never once doubting what Fantin had said was true. “Get up here.” She waited in silence a moment, knowing he was out there debating if he should show himself. “Don’t try it. Just get up here.” When he finally stepped out into the light cast by the moon on the main deck, as shadowy as even Fantin had been she sighed.

“You can’t protect me this time Klaton,” she stated firmly, her voice echoing down from the aftcastle. “You _know_ that.”

Klaton stood silent a moment, regarding her as she stood above him.   “And you can’t protect yourself either.”

Isabela very nearly sighed again but caught herself and instead put on the same face she had used to keep the world at bay for so very many years. In its place she chuckled.

“I’m a cat didn’t you know that? After all this time? I’ll land on my feet just fine.”

“I will not see him hurt you again.”

“Then look the other way,” Isabela snapped. “You’ll just get your fool self killed if you keep provoking him. You can’t help me Klaton. Stop hovering and that’s an order.”

When he turned smartly and disappeared into the dark again she knew she’d hurt him, had injured more than his sense of duty, she’d wounded his pride. Let him be angry, she mused because she’d rather have a cross first than a dead one. Looking up at the sky, gazing at the nearly full moon, she wondered at the sense of humor the Maker surely had.

What neither had noticed was a shadow hidden in the deep shadows that had watched the whole drama with interest.

* * *

It was the sound of a doorlatch that started him out of his light doze. His hand automatically went for the hilt of his sword and it took a moment for Fenris to remember that he had left it in the Gallows. If he should be caught he had no intentions of fighting his way out of this one.

It hadn’t taken long for him to find a storeroom, one that had obviously been given over to a woodworker as a workroom. Rough hewn benches and tables lined one wall, covered with well-kept tools and the corner was a pile of carefully swept shavings and wood dust. Leaned carefully against another wall was lovingly polished paneling, obviously intended for some wall somewhere and laid out on the floor before it were subtly intricate trim to match. The rest of the small space was taken over with raw wood planks, stacks of them, each destined to be used to make things greater than their humble beginnings. It was, Fenris had mused as he found himself a place to hide in the piles, the space of someone who took a great deal of pride in their work and wondered to himself if they were one of the craftsman that come from some far off land to aid the rebuilding.

Now, surrounded by the scent of raw wood, he froze in place as light laughter filtered through the air, banishing the silence that had been his companion for several hours now. It was feminine, and was quickly followed by a voice more masculine. He could not catch what was said because the door had not yet opened, but he understood the tone well enough. Sinking further into the shadows between the stacks, he listened as the door was pushed quietly open.

“My,” the woman giggled lightly, her voice teasing, “You are insistent. Calm yourself please!”

“You have driven me to distraction woman,” the male voice ground out, and for the first time Fenris could see them as he pushed her against a table, one unfortunately directly in his line of sight. As the man took the candle from her and sat it to the side, Fenris gritted his teeth and shrank further into his black cloak, hoping that the light didn’t reach as far as where he sat. The man’s robes showed him to be a Chantry brother, one sworn to service. It was obvious that his vow of chastity was the last thing on his mind as he roughly picked her up and sat her on the table, pushing her own robes out of the way as he did. “I have done everything asked of me by the Chantry and nothing helps! I am done praying!”

Pausing only long enough to open his own robes the brother broke his vows, thrusting into her with enough force that the table jumped. He paused only long enough to groan before he set a brutal pace, each thrust making the table slam against the wall. Fenris watched the as candle jumped each time, more nervous of it tipping than of the noise because the stone walls and heavy wooden doors would muffle the worst of what he was doing. At this hour most would be well away from this area, which was why he had chosen it and why they had apparently done so as well. It wasn’t until he heard her laugh cut over the sound of his heavy grunting that he looked back at them. She had wrapped her legs around him, subtly encouraging his pace and her arms were draped across his shoulders but as she whispered something into his ear her eyes were on Fenris and he knew she had seen him.

“Harder!” she ordered, her voice weighted with passion as she caught and held Fenris’s eye. “Take what you want! You know you like it! Watch!”

The brother groaned, too lost to really hear her but Fenris knew she was only half addressing him. Knowing beyond doubt he was caught Fenris let a snarl mar his face as he wondered what she would do. Robes or no this woman was nothing holy. Thankfully, the brother having denied himself for who knows how long was quick, far too quick Fenris saw for her. But when he stilled she made no comment, still holding Fenris’s eye over his shoulder.

“You have ruined me,” he suddenly whispered and pulling himself from her looked at her.

“No holy man,” she replied lightly, reaching up to push her black hair out of her face. “You’ve ruined yourself.”

Without further comment he righted his robes and fled the room. She watched him go without moving, her robes open and herself exposed to Fenris. Once the door closed behind him she turned her eye back to him, studying him silently.

“I seem to have found myself a thief,” she finally commented, pushing down from the table and standing regarding him. Fenris said nothing, did nothing as she stood unashamed of her own exposed flesh. “Don’t let the robes fool you, I am no devotee to Andraste.”

Fenris snorted loudly but said nothing. She just smiled and stepping up to him, crouched so that they were closer to the same level.

“Convince me not to start screaming,” she purred. “Tell me why you are here.”

“Why?” Fenris asked with a lightness he did not feel. “If no one heard your little tryst then no one will hear you scream.”

“Ah but I know something you don’t,” she murmured. “I know the schedule the guards take. I know that one will be outside in that hall any moment. And I stand here a known acolyte, her robes torn and you serah, have no business inside this building. Who will they believe?”

He had no way of knowing if she was bluffing or not and his own helplessness forced a snarl across his face. He was caught and had no choice.

“Yes,” he whispered harshly, “I am here to steal something.”

“Ah,” she smiled warmly though that warmth did not reach her eyes. “I thought so. And not a very good thief to be so easily trapped. Tell me, what are you here to steal?”

Fenris clenched his jaw, the muscle working visibly as he refused to answer her.

“Ah,” she nodded, “I see. Well I cannot let you go, you understand that right? Not without… payment.”

Fenris eyed her warily, wondering if she was serious, if there was a way out of finding himself locked in the jail ran by the city guards.

“What payment?”

She smiled again, standing and ushering him to do the same. When he did she looked him over critically, minutely and Fenris suddenly found himself feeling something he had thought banished with Danarius’s death – like property. Without thinking and far faster than she could ever hope to counter his hand whipped out and snagging her by the throat he pushed her against the wall, sneering savagely at her.

“What payment?” he ground out.

Having seen that this man would only be toyed with so much, she recovered quickly and laid a hand lightly to his chest.

“Calm yourself handsome elf,” she smirked, ignoring his hand around her throat as if it wasn’t there. “I am not the enemy here. Not yet anyway. I am here on my own business and would prefer not to have yours disrupt my own. But make no mistake, I will if I must. Tell me, what are you here to steal?”

Fenris sighed heavily, allowing his annoyance with this woman to be clear in the sound.

“A book.”

“A book,” she repeated thoughtfully, studying his face. “This Chantry keeps a limited library, none of them so valuable… ah! I see. You plan to steal a Chant do you not?” She smiled when his jaw clenched. “Well, let no one ever say that you are without nerve. Stealing a Chant from the Chantry itself?” She suddenly laughed, the first he had heard from her that was honest. “I am impressed.”

“Do not,” Fenris ground out, “Compare my actions to yours!”

“Oh do not fool yourself,” she let the hand on his chest slide up to cup his cheek. “We are not so different as you might think. My payment? A kiss. And make it a good one elf or I may change my mind.”

Fenris blinked, surprised that she would ask so little. Without stopping to consider he slanted his mouth over hers, his anger at the entire situation plain in the way he did. What he was unprepared for was the compliant way she melted against him, the way she expertly drew the kiss deeper and the way his body immediately reacted to her. He was for some moments lost in it, until her hand began tracing along his ear. What would ordinarily send him into something close to a trance of pure pleasure this time snapped him loose and growling he pushed himself away, turning his back to her to regain some sense of control. The hand was not the right one, its touch was different and instead of pleasure it wrung disgust with himself from him.

“Demon!” he ground out and was unsurprised when she just chuckled.

“Nothing so grand,” she responded, her voice suddenly accented with a distinctly Rivaini flavor as she dropped all pretense. “I am no denizen of the Fade, just well trained. She must be impressive.”

Fenris looked over his shoulder to see that she was finally buttoning her robes.

“What?”

“The woman that pulled you away,” she tipped her head to study the surprised look on his face before finishing. “She must be impressive to have won the heart of so complicated a man. Go, steal your Chant. I kept you busy while the guard passed. You have two hours before the next one comes. At the end of the hall there is a door. Turn left and follow that hallway until the fifth door. It will be locked but the Chants are kept there.”

Fenris stared at her, wondering at her motives.

“Go!” she hissed and without waiting for more, he went.

He did not question her directions, instead followed them precisely. Some instinct told him the entire scene had been nothing but to find out what it was he wanted and once she knew it would not disrupt whatever plans it was she had, she’d sent him on his way. In a way it bonded the two of them – he could never do anything about her without admitting to being in the Chantry and she could say nothing about him without having her own role in his crime brought to light. Cursing quietly in Arcanum Fenris found her door, the fifth one to the left and it was, as promised, locked. Looking both ways down the dimly lit hallway, he consciously called on the lyrium embedded deep under his skin. Reaching into the lock he gently found the tumblers, allowing his other hand to turn the bolt back into the door. It was a trick he’d learned long ago. He had not told Hawke about the time he had tried to escape after his return to Minrathous, the one that convinced Danarius he had needed that golden collar with no lock he could ever hope to pick.

With the door unlocked, Fenris slipped silently inside. Candles still burned here, set in massive candelabras that stood on the floor at intervals. There were five desks, but only three had Chants. On the desks next to two of them were velum, and many vials of hand mixed inks. Suddenly Fenris understood. It had been his understanding that each Circle of Magi had a chapel and presumably its own copy of the Chant as well. But that had not been the case in the Gallows. Now he realized why.

Even within the Chantry copies of this holy book were rare because each was handwritten and that took time. Kirkwall’s Chantry had been destroyed utterly, right down the very foundation set centuries ago and with it had gone all of Kirkwall’s copies of the Chant – except one. The one housed inside the Gallows. And it was this one remaining copy that had been used to create the other two copies he saw. And now those copies were being used to create more, as many as the Kirkwall’s Chantry might require. All the artisans that had been sent from across kingdoms to help the people of Kirkwall rebuild their Chantry were not so precious as the gift that had been given them by their very own Templars - they had returned to them their Chant when very nearly everyone alive in Kirkwall who knew it aloud, by heart and memory was dead.

Fenris sighed, feeling far worse about doing this than he had ever suspected. Pulling the empty satchel that hung across his back around, he chose the one not presently being copied – the one he suspected actually belonged to the Templars because its use was clear on its heavy leather cover. Somehow it seemed fitting that he took their copy since it was in the service of one of their members he was doing this. Pausing by one of the desks, he ran a finger down the edge of one of the velum pages, the neat if flourished work awaiting the scribe’s return and silently apologized for what he felt he must do.

* * *

“Why am I hearing rumors that you plan on taking a trip?”

Varric sighed. He knew it was too much to ask that he could get out of Kirkwall without Hawke finding out. She had managed to bully her way out of the Gallows, even donning one of the robes she so hated to do it, and had very nearly scared the piss out of him when she slammed through the door. Behind her a young Templar stood looking decidedly uncomfortable until finally he just closed the door behind her, surprising Varric completely though Hawke never noticed. Suddenly the captain’s quarters of the Wolf of Rivain felt very small.

“Hawke,” he smiled teasingly, “You look rather fetching in that outfit.”

“Oh please, do not try and bullshit me Varric. Where are you going?”

“I can’t tell you.”

That pulled her short and her eyebrows drew together though it was hard to tell if it was confusion or irritation that did it. Probably an equal mixture.

“And before you say it,” he held up a hand to forestall the argument he could see coming, “I can’t tell you why either. I was asked to see to something and I was asked not to say anything to anyone – including you.”

“By whom?”

“I can’t tell you that either.”

Suddenly Hawke deflated, realizing she knew this man too well. He might appear the exact opposite of the dwarven stereotype, but one trait she knew him to share with dwarves everywhere was an almost pathological stubbornness. He didn’t do it often but when he said no, he meant it. Sitting heavily in the chair next to his she sighed. Varric studied the weary expression on her face a moment and reached out to lay his hand on hers.

“I’m sorry.”

“No you are not,” she sighed. “What you are is glad to be out of Kirkwall and _doing_ something.”

Varric smiled as it suddenly dawned on him what was going on. Ticking his head towards the door, he observed, “You scared your Templar.”

Looking from Varric to the space Kirill had occupied when last she looked, she chuckled.

“Maybe. He’s Fenris’s nephew so it might be he was just being polite.”

“No I think you scared.... Wait, did you say nephew?”

Hawke sighed. They really hadn’t had much time to just talk. Laughing at the slightly perturbed look on his face she nodded.

“Turns out Fenris’s sister is here and has been since before we left. It’s funny how things work out isn’t it?”

Varric sighed, thinking that when this was all over they were going to have to sit down and have a serious discussion about all the things that were happening out of his view. His chronicle would never be accurate if he didn’t know these things. 

“Look,” he finally said, squeezing her hand as he did, “I’m sorry I have to go off and leave you but….”

“I know,” she sighed. “You have to. Just like I have to stay here. But,” she paused to turn a fierce look at him, “You be careful, understand? If you let someone stab you in the back I won’t be there to fix it this time!”

“Shrawn will be there to watch my back,” he assured her lightly, trying to take the intensity of the conversation down a notch or two.

“She better,” Hawke smiled sadly. “Whatever would I do without my trusty dwarf?”

Varric chuckled at the reminder of simpler times, though they had seemed far from ‘simple’ then.

“In a perfect world you’ll never find out so don’t go crying yourself to sleep just yet. Now,” he quickly changed the subject, “What is this about Fenris’s sister?”

* * *

Fenris stood, looking down at the again sleeping Truss. Hassrath had told him that Truss was doing more of that – sleeping. Hassrath was unsure if it was some defense against the things that were being asked of him or if it was a genuine reaction to examining things he had never questioned before. Considering the lengths to which people were going for the sake of this one man Fenris decided looking down at him, that it was time to test this theory. Sending Hassrath away with the Templar that had escorted him to the room in the maze of passageways that lay hidden beneath the Gallows, Fenris had stood for some time, watching the younger man sleep, trying to decide how best to do this. Finally he decided on the most simple and direct method.

Walking over to the sack he had brought with him, he pulled out a book, the one that Hassrath had requested he track down and one that had given him no end of trouble to find. No actually, that wasn’t entirely true – finding it had been relatively simple, laying his hands on it? Well that hadn’t been anything close to easy. Studying the worn leather of its cover, the faded and tarnished sacred seal of the Chantry embossed into it, Fenris considered the night he had spent obtaining it and the woman who had aided his endeavor. He knew he would never make sense of her, he didn’t know enough but her claim that they were not so dissimilar raised his hackles. This book he knew was precious to those who believed, would be sorely missed and those who had been tasked with its care would leave no stone unturned. Stopping next to Truss’s huddled form, laying buried in blankets against the chill that permeated the air despite the fire kept burning in the firepit, Fenris hoped that Cullen’s faith in this boy would extend to forgiveness for what he had done in this boy’s name.

Fenris opened his fingers, allowing this precious thing to fall unchecked. It landed with a heavy thud, one that sounded like an explosion inside the silence of the room. Dust kicked up by its hard fall shot up to dance in the air before him but he paid it no attention when Truss reacted much the way he had expected. Acting on instinct, Truss rolled to his feet, blankets landing on the ground around them, knees bent into a fighter’s stance. What did surprise Fenris for just a moment was that he came to his feet with his still unfinished sword in hand. He had, Fenris realized, been sleeping with it under his hand, a habit he well recognized but one that he would not have suspected Truss of. Was Hassrath’s lesson taking root? Or was it simply that the young man who had never had anything of value to match that sword was guarding his prize? Fenris stood still and silent, watching while Truss quickly found his footing in the situation.

“Where is Hassrath?”

“Gone.”

“Gone?” Truss straightened, the sword lowering as he took that in. “Gone where?”

“Probably to take a bath and enjoy a nap in a bed. He’ll be back soon enough.” Fenris paused to cross his arms. “Until then you and I need to come to terms.”

Truss’s eyebrows shot up but he held his tongue, regarding the marked elf carefully because he wasn’t sure he liked that tone at all. When Fenris did not say anything, simply pointed down, Truss glanced at the book that until now he hadn’t noticed. His first thought was that explained the sound that had cut through his dreams like a peal of thunder. His second was to pause to look closer at the big book. His third was to kneel, eyebrows knotted as he seemed to recognize it, but it wasn’t until he touched the cover that it dawned on him exactly what it was he was looking at. Shooting straight back up, his sword automatically coming back up and pointing threateningly at Fenris, he struggled for words.

“You,” he gasped, his shock and dismay plain. “You… you have stolen the Chant! There is nothing that could convince Sister Meegan to allow that book out of the chapel! Nothing!”

“Is that her name?” Fenris replied lightly. “She is devoted to it. Very careful with its care.”

“And she will be beside herself! Why?”

“Because Hassrath asked me to.”

“What?”

 “Boy,” Fenris sighed, looking at Truss with a jaundiced eye, “You truly do not understand do you? Cullen has spent years watching over you, worrying _about_ you. It has nothing to do with your devoting yourself to his order and if you would stop and think about it you would know that! He has admitted defeat, he does not know how to help you but Hassrath thinks that he can. And Hassrath thinks that you being able to read that book - not have it spoken _to_ you or interpreted _for_ you but to actually _read_ it for yourself will help you. He doesn’t understand that few outside the Chantry have access to it. Where he comes from wisdom is freely given, to any who require it. That is why he has shut himself down here with you, that is why he asked Cullen to find a blank sword for you to pour your heart into, and that,” Fenris paused a moment, his own expression going dark, “That is why I have taken something that could easily see me put in one of those rusty cells out there and left to die. Because men I have come to respect _think_ they can help you.”

Truss straightened as he blinked at Fenris, taking in the things he had said.

“I am no thief,” Fenris continued sharply, his hand firing out to slap the sword that Truss still held at him away and stepping over the book to thrust his face into Truss’s. “I intend to return the book. I am trusting that you, who understand its worth, will treat it with kindness because any damage done to it will be taken out of _my_ hide. And understand now that I do not stick my neck out for those who have not _earned_ it, so you had better start.”

Truss flinched from the harsh tone, still blinking in an almost uncontrollable way as he considered what had just been very plainly stated. Finally he simply sat, falling to the floor at Fenris’s feet to stare at the book that lay behind him. Fenris watched for a moment, studying the stunned look on the young man’s face carefully before turning away to lean against the wall. He wondered what it was Truss was thinking. He was not without some sympathy for the boy after hearing what of his story Cullen knew. Anger was something Fenris understood – it still had a place of its own deep inside him, caged and waiting and he knew beyond doubt that there would come a day when it would tear itself loose. Perhaps it was all those years of having no choice but to swallow it and ignore it that had gave him the perspective to keep it there - a perspective that Truss lacked.

“What,” Truss finally asked, looking at Fenris almost plaintively, “is so special about me? Why?”

Fenris regarded him in silence for a few moments, wondering the same thing himself.

“I don’t know,” he finally confessed softly, “Maybe nothing. Some people will throw themselves before a horde knowing it will be hopeless because they think it best; maybe this is the case here. Cullen sees himself in you and Hassrath? Well I think Hassrath is doing this as much for himself as he is for you. He’s lost too you know.”

Truss looked at the book again, thinking to himself that until this he hadn’t considered himself ‘lost.’

“And you?”

Fenris snorted, a hard sound inside the echoing quiet of the room.

“I told you I didn’t do this for you,” he chided Truss. “You have not earned any opinion from me. But they have so I have taken on my share of their assumed burden. I haven’t decided yet that you are not that hopeless cause.”

“But you would risk censure? From the Chantry as well as Templars for a cause you do not believe in?”

“I don’t need to believe in you,” Fenris growled before crossing his arms and looking away. “And censure from your Chantry does _not_ impress me. I am not Andrastian and I do not care what they might think of me for it.”

“But Knight-Commander Cullen _will_ care and you _know_ that.”

Fenris sighed heavily but didn’t say anything. It was true, Sir Cullen would not approve and the odds were there would be a price to be paid. But Fenris would be the one to pay it, not Hassrath and certainly not the boy and he would see to that.

“I do,” Fenris finally replied. “And I will trust that Cullen at the least will understand. I think I have earned the same respect from him, but I guess we will see will we not?”

Truss studied the elf, his expression one that doggedly refused to give any hint to Truss of what he was thinking, any clue that any of what he had said was true. Truss suddenly found himself envying him that control with which he held himself. Shifting his gaze to the sword that was still in his hand, that he had automatically drawn up as he had fallen to the floor to prevent it from dragging along the hard stone floor, he sighed. The days or at least he assumed it to be days since this place seemed timeless to him, had brought it very close to its ultimate shape. It would not be much longer before it was complete, with a true edge to it that, if Truss had any say in it, would cut through anything he required of it. And he came to a realization in that moment, one he had not expected – he understood. Looking back at the book, he sighed.

Fenris watched carefully as Truss considered it all, a great many things washing across his face as he did, clear for the elf to study. And in that moment Fenris knew that this exercise might not in the end have the exact effect that Hassrath had intended, but it was also not a complete failure. Truss was after all, a Theodosian human who had freely given himself to the Templar Order, not Qunari born of the Qun and indoctrinated into the Ben Hassrath, even if the two orders bore a striking resemblance sometimes. But Hassrath would know that wouldn’t he? He would not have asked for the Chant he had not. The truth was like one of those expensive stained glass windows that the magisters were so fond of – it was necessarily colored by the angle of the light shone through it. But in the end, he mused it was still the truth and as such sometimes painful.

When Hassrath returned hours later, he found the two men sat, swords set aside and with the big book between them. Truss was reading the flourished script aloud as Fenris followed silently. He knew that they had heard him but neither looked up. Turning he sent the Templar who had escorted him away, telling him to see to it someone returned the next day and that Hawke was informed that Fenris would be staying. The Templar shrugged and left Hassrath to patiently watch from the door.

* * *

In the morning light that spilled through the high, arched windows, revealing the dust that hung in the air of the room put there by the sand that covered the floor to both help with the footing of those there to learn their martial arts and with the cleanup when the inevitable wounding happened, seventeen of the original twenty Templar Knights stood. They did not mill about aimlessly, they did not speak of inconsequential things as they stood waiting. These men well understood why they were there because it had been beaten into them the very first day. Even the disappearance of one of their members as well as one of their teachers had not provoked gossip. Most simply assumed that Truss had gone to Ostwick with the Knight-Commander and as to the kossith’s disappearance? They had silently decided not to speculate. As knights they understood that some things were not theirs to know.

Of the original twenty that had been ordered to this room, most still returned each day. One of those that did not simply could not because his arm had been broken so badly the first day that the healers refused to allow it, though he would often be seen standing in the shadows during the day as his duties allowed, watching. Another had risked the ire of his Knight-Commander and refused to return, saying that being humiliated had no place in a ‘learning’ experience and Cullen had wisely allowed it.

And then there was Truss.

And so when three men entered, late but not unseemingly so, a few eyebrows were promptly raised. When Truss silently took his place in the line of students, there were more than a few glances thrown at him from his fellows, but nothing was said. If there was one thing that had been instilled in these men by their training it was restraint, because restraint could sometimes be the difference between a good and bad outcome inside the Circle. It was a restraint that Truss had shared so long as he was on duty, but not one they had come to expect from him in anything else.

“After your unexpected day of rest yesterday,” Fenris finally pulled their attention to him as he stood with his arms crossed. “I expect a lot from you bunch today. Buddy up - we are going to start with some sparring.”

Hassrath stood to the side watching. He was stiff from sleeping on stone for days and tired because the dark place he had spent this week had turned his circadian rhythms against him but those things were of no consequence to him. He watched as Truss drew his sword, the one he had put so much effort into as he sharpened it to a deadly gleam and took stance. He had been very quiet these last few days, very driven to finish what he had started. Eventually he had turned away from the book to work on the sword and Fenris, whose skills in reading were like his own – much improved but still sometimes lacking, had taken up the reading aloud. Neither of them had slept as they both saw to their own self-assigned tasks. They had not come close to finishing the book before Truss had finished his duty to his weapon but that hadn’t been the point in the first place, and the last few hours before the Templar escort’s appearance had been spent with the book as the sole center of attention.

It had not gone without Hassrath’s notice that when they were returning things to the bags to be taken back to the world of men, Truss had silently taken the book from Fenris. The look the two men had shared was something he still could not interpret, but Fenris had simply nodded and allowed the young knight to lay claim to the book. In a way it pleased Hassrath that Truss wished to be responsible for it, to see to it and he suspected to continue to read it. Though not of the Qun, he had heard a great deal of wisdom in the words that were being read aloud and it had given him something of an insight into the minds of these basra he now found himself among. It was yet something else he would need to sit and examine in those quiet moments of the day. 


	51. Chapter 51

Klaton stood at the rail as he oversaw the unloading of more than a few crates from the ship. A great many of them had been on the ship for a great while, contraband from one of their excursions into Tevinter waters had sat forgotten in the corners of the hold while they had turned their attentions to things with wider political meaning. They hadn’t the time in Antiva and Isabela had refused to try and find someone to take them off their hands in Kirkwall. Over the years they made more than a few dockings in Kirkwall’s sheltered harbor but never in all that time had they done business there; Klaton suspected it had to do with the captain of the Kirkwall Guard. Klaton had no dealings with her personally and whenever her name came up Isabela peppered the discussion with words like ‘snooty’ and ‘uptight’ but Klaton had always gotten the impression that deep down Isabela was somehow fond of the woman and that her abject refusal to do business in Kirkwall was in some way a mark of respect and not fear.

“Come on, put your backs into it,” he ordered, “We are almost finished!”

“Aye,” one of his men shot back promptly, “But how long before we have to start loading more back _onto_ the ship?”

Klaton chuckled and shook his head. A great many firsts would take that as disrespect but Klaton took it for what it was - banter. He firmly believed that in order to earn respect one had to be just as willing to give it and each of his crew had earned it many times over so he allowed them some liberties that most would not. So long as they did their jobs and showed proper respect to their captain he was happy.

“You have a point,” he replied, “But just remember this – we get this off the ship and it will put sovereigns in your pockets to spend and we will likely be here long enough for you to spend it. So get moving!”

With a collective groan that Klaton knew to be more a punctuation to their banter than a comment on the job at hand, the men returned to their task and Klaton turned to lean against the rail and watch with distant interest the bustle on the dock. Men stood waiting to load the crates onto carriages to be taken to a warehouse that Klaton had arranged. As soon as that was done he would go about talking to the people he knew to sell the fabrics, rugs and trinkets of all stripe and caliber for the best price he could find. With any luck, it wouldn’t take long. The tapestries alone were breathtakingly lovely.

“I find myself at a loss,” a voice with a muddle of accents interrupted his musings. “I have never been to Ostwick. I have no idea what to do with myself.”

Klaton turned his head to look at the same guard captain that made unloading these crates in Ostwick necessary. She had stepped up to the rail some paces away and stood looking down at the same scene he had. She was not wearing her armor and Klaton wondered why she had not accompanied the others to the audience with the teyrn.

“You are from Orlais?” he asked, easily identifying his own inflections in her speech.

“Only vaguely,” Aveline replied. “I was born there but my father was forced to flee to Ferelden when I was a little girl. I do not consider myself Orlesian.”

Klaton considered that a moment, plainly seeing a story behind it and deciding should she wish him to know it she would volunteer. When she didn’t, he cocked his head as he reflected on what else she’d said.

“So you consider yourself Ferelden?”

Aveline turned her head to look at him fully, studying the man before her a moment before responding.

“No,” she replied simply. “I am a citizen of Kirkwall and Maker will it, will be until the day I die. My allegiance is there.”

Klaton nodded. He could well understand that.

“Ostwick is not so different from Kirkwall, though without magisters to muddle its street plans and without the stairs to separate the districts. The further from the docks you get the pricier the shops and the better the inns.” He looked at the sword at her hip. “Why did you not go with the rest?”

“Carver forbid it,” she sighed. “Apparently he’s decided that with Cullen and that Crow along he doesn’t need the statement that bringing your own guard makes.”

Klaton bowed his mouth as he considered that, especially her obvious displeasure at the turn of events. Finally he nodded.

“It is a bold statement, but from what I hear Regent Carver is a bold man.” Pausing to consider his own words a moment, he chuckled, drawing Aveline’s attention back to him. Taking in the cocked eyebrow she sent him he smiled ruefully. “I would actually expect no less from a sibling of Marian Hawke. They say the apple never falls far from the tree. Makes me wonder about their parents.”

“I never knew their father, but from what I know _of_ him I don’t know if ‘bold’ would be what you would call him. Determined maybe. Determined to survive and keep his family safe. Hawke has always shared that with him even if Carver took longer to learn it. I guess it’s the male in him. Sometimes it takes finding something precious to make them realize it was something they had all along.” Aveline sighed. “Well, if they insist on leaving me while they stay at the Keep, I refuse to be cooped up here. I’m going to explore.”

“Be careful,” Klaton warned her lightly. “Even the politest cities have impolite tendencies.”

“I think I’m good,” she inclined her head as she turned . Before walking away she paused a moment, her back to him so that he got a good long look at the simple and functional longsword strapped to it before glancing over her shoulder. “I have some ‘impolite tendencies’ of my own.”

Klaton watched her until she disappeared into the crowd, a slightly surprised look to him. That woman wasn’t nearly the type he would expect to wind up as a captain of any _guard_ , she was more the type that found success in leading men in armies to war. There is, he mused, definitely a story there.

Isabela watched from her door as Aveline left the ship. She really hadn’t talked to her much since she’d come aboard because it always seemed as if Fantin was keeping himself just a few steps behind Carver the whole week it had taken to get here. What his motive might be Isabela could not say though she could plainly see he had drawn the interest of Aveline in doing it. Looking up at the sun, now high in the sky, she wondered when Fantin and the Tevinter Julyan would return. They had disappeared the second they had docked late in the evening before, telling Klaton they would be back. Well, she mused, at least all the muckety-mucks were gone now.

Glancing up at the tall towers of Ostwick’s Keep, just visible over the warehouses surrounding the dock, Isabela wished them luck. She suspected they would need it. Pausing to study Klaton as he watched Aveline leave she decided no, maybe they didn’t. Not with Fantin playing his games. When Klaton glanced over his shoulder and saw her, she met his eye without flinching. He’d been remarkably quiet since that night on the deck, none of his usual banter. She found she missed it but she knew she was right and would offer no apology for it. Realizing her hands had clenched at her side, she loosened them and took a deep breath. Tugging at the hem of her short dress she straightened her back and headed for the gangplank without looking back.

Klaton watched mutely as she steeled herself and knew it for what it was. There was very little about his captain that he didn’t know though the learning of it had been both expensive and sometimes downright painful. She was as fast with that tongue as she was with those fighting daggers she wore on her back and just as precise as well. He knew that as far as she was concerned it was done and consequences be damned she wouldn’t retreat. It was her way. It always had been and it always would be. When she disappeared the same direction as Aveline, he wished the Kirkwall Guard Captain luck. He suspected she might need it.

* * *

“You want me to what?” Donnic shot a look up at Hawke’s painted elf from under a heavy brow.

“I’m asking that you allow some of the Templars to accompany your guards on patrols. We have more than a few that have no real experience….”

“I don’t know about your Templars, Fenris,” Donnic fired back smartly, “But the whole point of the Guard is to keep situations like the ones you’re looking for from happening.”

Gritting his teeth and inclined his head politely, Fenris decided this man was as regular order as his wife. Maybe more so.

“And I’m not looking to change that,” Fenris sighed. “But Templars spend a great deal of time behind walls, nearly as much as the mages do. What I am proposing would get some out of there and show them a little of what the real world is like.”

Donnic sat back in the chair his wife spent so much time in and regarded Fenris across the desk for a long time. Fenris considered the other man through his bangs, thinking that the similarities with his wife ended there. She was much more adept at keeping what she was thinking off her face.

Donnic, for his part was studying Fenris and thinking this might not be as much of a headache as it sounded at first glance. With the Grand Cleric and not only the Knight-Captains of Kirkwall but also the new Knight-Commander of Starkhaven all lining up to breathe down his neck about the Templar’s copy of the Chant stolen directly from Chantry, some even calling for him to order the Guards to do a house to house search until the thieves were caught, he had more than enough on his plate. So far Seneschal Markard had managed to use his pull as the Regent’s… well regent to keep the peace but Donnic doubted that would keep. Maybe the extra man power would be a good thing. More eyes and ears on the streets. Sighing to himself, he wished Aveline were here. She’d know what was best, she always did. Frankly all Donnic wanted was to park the cretin who stole the Chant in the deepest cell they had and forget about their repellent existence. Who stole from the Chantry? And why would _anyone_ steal a Chant?

“All right, Fenris,” Donnic finally replied as he parked his elbows on the desk, shooting a look Fenris _couldn’t_ read over his folded hands. “It might be a good thing. At the very least it will make the Templars feel like they are helping find the book. But if they get in the way….”

“I will see to it,” Fenris nodded, schooling his expression carefully when a jolt of guilt shot through him. “The men I will be sending you are all knights that I have been training. Every one of them understands that if they displease me they will face consequences from the Knight-Commander.”

Donnic studied the cool composure of the elf a moment, wondering not for the first time exactly what was going on inside the Gallows now. His wife knew some of it at least he was sure but she made it a point to not discuss such things. Donnic understood that she had the confidence of the Regent and even more so the Viscount and Champion. She would tell him what he needed to know, or more precisely still, what _she_ needed him to know and he trusted her judgment implicitly.

“Fine then,” Donnic replied. “Send me a list and I’ll put them on the schedule.”

When Fenris promptly produced a list and dropped it on the desk before him, Donnic sighed as he watched the elf leave without further comment, pulling the deep hood of his cloak over his silvered hair. That man, he mused, is as difficult to read as the Arcanum he spoke.

* * *

“Oh come on, Aveline,” Isabela smirked, for some perverse reason enjoying it when Aveline’s shoulders tensed as her own arm draped across them. “You know nothing of Ostwick and I have darkened her fair streets often enough to know my way around. Tell me! Tell me what it is you are looking for and I would be happy to be your guide.”

Aveline regarded the woman for just the length of time it took for the beat of a heart before shrugging her off.

“I’m sure you do know your way,” she replied levelly, “But brothels and alehouses do not interest me.”

“Oh I see,” Isabela replied lightly, watching as the ginger guard captain started to stalk away. “Shame that, most brothels serve food far superior to the most expensive inns.”

“Oh of that I have no doubt,” Aveline replied promptly over her shoulder, knowing that it was probably useless but still hoping against hope that Isabela would go her merry way. “Anything to lure them in the door right?”

“Actually yes, that is sometimes the idea,” Isabela sighed dramatically and turned to follow her. “Even you with your stuffy, starchy morals have to admit there is something satisfying in seeing a man eat, even sensual. There is a reason it is often called feasting the eyes...”

Aveline suddenly stopped and Isabela, who had been trailing was unprepared and ran straight into her. Before Isabela could recover Aveline whipped around and pushed her unceremoniously back a step.

“Cease this!” Aveline ground out, her color high, “Believe it or not I understand your reasons but forever acting the harlot is beneath you and your constant baiting gets tiring. Honestly, I don’t know how Hawke puts up with you! You’re like a child without boundaries. There is a time and a place for everything, why must you insist on always pushing!”

Isabela blinked, completely taken by surprise. Aveline had always been fast to respond to her repartee but this was new. Aveline grunted when she didn’t immediately respond and turned on her heel, leaving Isabela to follow or not as she so chose.

“And if you must know,” Aveline fired over her shoulder, “Hawke asked me to find something for her should I have the time.”

* * *

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at the one guard he had brought with him. Baldovin stood as he usually did in such circumstances – sporting a practiced and well done look of severity as he continually took it all in. To look at him now one would not suspect his easy-going nature. Two sides of the same coin, Baldovin might at first glance look to have simple motivations but Sebastian knew that to be a falsehood that had lead many astray in their dealings with the man. Sighing, he turned his attention back to the conversation, schooling his own features as he did.

Though he had not shown it, Baldovin had noticed the look his liege had shot over his shoulder. Having spent a great many years following Sebastian, Baldovin knew that these sorts of diplomatic meetings often bored the prince. Today he seemed content to simply observe as Carver and Cullen, both of whom had more dealings with Ostwick’s swarthy leader, shepherded the conversation. Baldovin for his own part, while listening with the same interest as Sebastian, spent far more time watching the two Crows.

Fantin sat relaxed, legs stretched out and ankles crossed as he also spent a great deal of time silent. Standing behind him was the man he’d introduced on Isabella’s ship as Julyan, a man that said little but like Baldovin, saw much. Baldovin did not care much for either man and for more reasons than just the fact that they were Antivan Crows, but Julyan pricked at something that even Baldovin was hard put to explain. Studying him, Baldovin had to admit that to the eye he was unassuming, with little to draw attention to him. He was… average, in every way from height to coloring to looks. Nothing stood out, nothing drew attention and though Baldovin knew him to be a mage he did not carry himself as any mage that he had ever had experience with. It was almost as if the man viewed his powers as nothing, nothing that he or anyone else should concern themselves with. His scrutiny finally drew the attention of the man and he gazed back at Baldovin’s blunt inspection with a mild look for a moment before smiling.

And suddenly it dawned on Baldovin just what it was about this man that disturbed him. Because in that seemingly open smile he could see a great many things – charm, wit, charisma and most telling of all, a veiled threat. This man was, he realized, a canvas - one upon which he could paint anything he wished. With no doubt in his mind Baldovin decided this man could pass in any environment - could flatter his way into any court, could bully his way through any ruffian without drawing a blade, could charm any woman he chose no matter how chaste. This seemingly docile man was by far the most dangerous man in the room. Tipping his head he met Julyan’s smile unflinchingly and silently hoped the day never came that this man was set against him. Despite his best efforts Baldovin could see that Julyan had read his sudden unease when his smile became as unassuming as his general appearance. Before he could look away, Julyan suddenly winked and shifted his own attention back to a conversation that had begun to turn from pleasantries to things far more important.

* * *

Truss pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against when Fenris reached the bottom of the grand stairs that lead to the entrance of the Keep, walking right past him without pause. Hurrying to fall into step with the elf, the quick look at Fenris’s expression he got when he shot him a look from inside the hood of his cloak told Truss just about everything he needed to know.  Whether or not Donnic had agreed made no difference, Fenris was not happy. Both men knew that the absolute last place that the Kirkwall Guard would look for the lost Chant would be inside the Gallows so neither were particularly concerned with being found out just yet, but that did little to assuage either of their feelings about it. Sighing, Truss decided this time maybe silence would work to his advantage and held his tongue.

When Truss simply fell into step with him, silent and what could only be described as a consolatory Fenris had to fight the urge to hit the young knight. It wasn’t his fault, Fenris had willingly stolen the Chant even knowing what the probable outcome would be. Even so, Fenris had vastly underestimated the uproar. It seemed the entire city, even those inside it that only gave nodding acquiescence to being Andrastian, were up in arms. Perhaps the wounds left by the utter destruction of the Chantry were too fresh and this had opened them again, leaving them to bleed in the streets. Pride was a funny thing, something he was only now coming to understand. Even now they could hear the general outcry because very few that they passed as they worked their way past the stalls of the Hightown merchants were not discussing the Chant’s disappearance. Some were speculating on the why, most were discussing the who and offering up opinions on various punishments.

Some would have earned even Danarius’s jaded smile and Fenris felt his hands clench at that thought.

“You still trying to keep this from Hassrath?”

Fenris’s step faltered just a little when he heard Truss’s quiet question, so gently delivered that it was almost lost in the general noise and the clinging folds of his hood. Sighing he forced himself to continue with only the slightest pause.

“I do not know that it is a secret that can be kept from him now.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Truss nod.

“What about the Viscountess?”

Fenris didn’t reply, just set more speed to his step and Truss didn’t try to keep pace, falling behind to trail him through the crowd as they began their descent to Lowtown and the docks.

* * *

Aveline stood looking in the glass front of a haberdashery, silently inspecting the hats and neatly folded shirts that were displayed. Behind she could see coats and cloaks hung on sewing mannequins for display. Behind her Isabela watched but had kept her silence same as she had since Aveline’s earlier outburst, but when she saw the Aveline’s lips twist thoughtfully she finally decided she just had to ask.

“Please tell me that this isn’t what Hawke sent you for?” she quipped lightly. “I think I might just pay to see her try and get Fenris in some of those things.”

“Actually,” Aveline fired back without pause, “I was considering something for Donnic. Whether you choose to believe it or not, we both do occasionally wear something besides armor. And I am sure Fenris does as well.”

Isabela chuckled, knowing full well from months spent on a ship with Fenris that yes he did put his armor away occasionally. But the loose tunics and shirts over either those leather leggings of his or trousers that were only slightly looser were probably not what Aveline had in mind. Leaning forward to peer past the glare of the sun on the glass Isabela sighed. It was true though, some men naturally wore such finery with a better figure than others and Fenris could probably carry the look healthier than most. She just didn’t think it would ever happen without some serious work.

“Could Donnic use a coat?” Isabela asked distractedly.

Aveline shot a sidewise look at the other woman before replying.

“Why?”

“Because the cut on that one would suit him,” Isabela replied guilelessly, thoughts suddenly somewhere else as she pointed out the one on display inside the darkened interior of the store. “Simple enough to suit his tastes but cleverly elegant all the same. And it would certainly show off those shoulders he has.”

Aveline’s brow furrowed while she tried to decipher any hidden meaning Isabela might have because she had come to expect innuendo in everything from this woman. To her surprise she could find none. Following Isabela’s look she realized that she was probably right, and that was just not something she had come to expect from this pirate. Sighing to herself she nodded.

“I think you may be right.”

Isabela didn’t reply, just straightened and shot a look at Aveline that she couldn’t quite pin down.

“Well then,” Isabela suddenly smiled, “While you do your thing, I’ll wait over there.”

Aveline followed the tip of Isabela’s head and realized that just across the street was an inn, one that by the look of things had a bar busy even at this hour. Shaking her head she, feeling somewhat relieved that her firmly held beliefs about this woman were in fact not being challenged, Aveline simply took her leave without further comment. Isabela watched her a moment through the glass before turning towards the inn, her lips bowed thoughtfully.

* * *

Hawke sighed. She had always known that mages who would willingly return to the Circles first would be the ones least likely to willingly fight. Not that they could all be labeled as timid, not by a fair shot. A good number were far from it but even with the blessings of the Templars they were wary of what was going to be asked of them. She supposed it was only natural in a way, these people had been locked away, told it was for their own protection as well as that of Thedas. They had watched unrest within their own ranks for years before that turmoil had boiled over into the streets, in some ways proving the Templars right. In the beginning a great many innocent people had paid for the rage that had seethed unseen in the Circles, some even with their lives. A great many of those inside the Gallows now felt they had something they had to redeem and even as the Tranquil Order obediently flew into action enchanting weapons and armor and who knew what other trinkets for the use of those not so talented as the mages, their freer brethren stood paused and indecisive.

“They debate among themselves,” Vistana sighed softly. “They know that they must follow the Templars if they determine war to be the only option but their hearts are not behind it.”

“I know,” Hawke replied lightly, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. “And I wish I knew what to do about it. If even the knowledge that, should the Qun come knocking at the Gallows door, their lives would be forfeit along with the freedoms of all men doesn’t move them then I don’t know what will.”

“Oh you mistake them, Hawke,” Vistana shot a hard glance over her desk at the Champion. “Few among them concern themselves with their own welfare. They gave that worry over long ago or they would be out there fighting with the rebellion. And they all understand that a front united with their Templars and rulers in a fight to defend the freedoms of the common man is something that will do much to improve the way mages of all stripes would be perceived. What concerns them is that this is something that goes no further than the Keep. Ultimately the Chantry rules them and the Chantry has given no blessings to this.” When Hawke shot Vistana a surprised look, obviously prepared to argue, Vistana held up a placating hand to stop her. “Not only that, they are being asked to come to the aid of Tevinter to do it. You are a mage, you have been to Minrathous. You must understand their misgivings.”

Hawke’s mouth snapped shut, irritated that she was being lectured by Vistana of all people and even more irritated that this had not once occurred to her.

“I am not asking them to defend magisters! Magisters are _more_ than capable of defending themselves! But when it comes right down to it magisters will _always_ concern themselves with magisters. We saw it before - if they feel it in their best interests they will pull back and leave the rest of Tevinter to its own devices and take their armies with them. There will be no one to even slow the Qun’s conquest of any part of Tevinter that magisters feel expendable.” Hawke suddenly stood, slapping the flat of her hand down on Vistana’s desk as she leaned over it, expression thunderous at the very thought. “And if the Qun gets a foothold on the mainland without anyone to answer them they will be exceedingly difficult to remove. They are like weeds – once they set root in a garden it takes no end of effort…”

“I know,” Vistana cut through Hawke’s tantrum with a dismissive wave. “I have taken the time to speak with your ‘Tal-Vashoth’ woman. I understand that what the Qun offers is deceptively attractive and extraordinarily dangerous to anyone who doesn’t understand its costs. But they _don’t!_ ”

Hawke sat heavily, realizing that Vistana was right. These mages were sheltered things, naïve really in a lot of cases. Most had been brought to the Circle the second they had shown any power at all and had spent their adult lives within cages, never looking past the stone walls of that prison. What did they understand about the world outside or the politics that drove it? Or even beyond that the passions that drove the politics? They didn’t, or most didn’t at any case. Until now their view had been obscured by the dictates of their Templars and their own internal passions and politics. Without another word she shot Vistana an unhappy look and left. Vistana watched her leave before sighing heavily and leaning back in her chair, unable and unwilling to suppress the pleased smile that spread at the sight of Hawke’s retreating back.

Finally, after all these years, an argument she had very decidedly won.

* * *

“So,” Sebastian asked lightly, “What do you think?”

“I think,” Baldovin sighed, “That Ostwick’s support is far from assured.”

Sebastian nodded, not looking at his friend and instead taking in the view from the window they stood by.  The day was aging as the sun hung over west, throwing shadows down over the streets. A break in the discussions had been called, the Teyrn excusing himself so that he might ‘ready himself for dinner’. Sebastian knew that particular tact; it was one he’d used often enough. What the Teyrn was actually saying was he needed time to consult with his own people before he decided that both Kirkwall and Starkhaven had lost its collective minds. They had been politely shown to the rooms they would be using as guests of Ostwick and left to their own devices.

“Well to his credit I’m sure he wasn’t expecting anything like this,” Sebastian murmured thoughtfully. “I’m sure concessions concerning docking fees and taxes were more what he had in mind, not a potential disaster for future generations. Wish I knew his advisors better though. At least that way I’d have an idea what sort of reaction he’s getting right now.”

“Are you kidding?” Baldovin chuckled darkly, “I’m sure it sounds something remarkably like, ‘send them packing sire, before their madness spreads.’ I’m sure that would be my reaction anyway.”

Sebastian stifled the urge to laugh at his friend, looking at him levelly instead.

“And I would tell you the same thing I am hoping he is telling his advisors.”

Baldovin sighed, leaning back against the window’s frame and nodding as he intoned tiredly, “We can’t.”

“You’re right,” Sebastian went back to the view thoughtfully. “They can’t. Not yet anyway.”

Baldovin watched out of the corner of his eye and wondered what the prince was thinking. It had been nearly eight years since his return to Starkhaven but it hadn’t taken long for Baldovin to realize that the man that returned was not quite the same one that had left. He wasn’t the same Sebi that he had played with in the royal gardens, that he had trained in combat with under the careful tutelage of both Baldovin’s father and Sebastian’s grandfather, that found  a thousand different ways to make his father wish it were possible to geld him like a stallion so he would stop embarrassing the court. His time away from Starkhaven had marked him in a thousand different ways and had gentled him far better than any maiming his family could have dreamed. Even now there were things he didn’t talk about unless forced.

Without his realizing it, Baldovin smiled to himself. It was a lopsided grin, it was a roguish grin and one he kept in his arsenal because he found woman just adored it. But this time its meaning was far simpler.

“You know,” he remarked lightly, “No one said we had to stay for dinner. Carver and Cullen are doing far more of the talking right now than anyone else. Beg off, claim fatigue and let’s get out of here for a while.”

Sebastian shot his friend a dark look until it suddenly dawned on him what Baldovin was doing.

“I’m brooding again aren’t I?”

“You are,” Baldovin agreed, “And about things you can do nothing about right now. You are only here to show solidarity anyway.”

 “Fine, tell them whatever you want,” Sebastian sighed and looked out the window again, realizing that he was right. “But if I wake up in the jail I will have you drawn and quartered. Do I make myself clear?”

* * *

 Fenris was not overly surprised when he found finally found Hawke – this garden the mages kept seemed to be something of a sanctuary for her though he had shied away from asking why. She sat in the dark, leaned against the same tree that Carver had found them reading under after their arrival, with her cloak pulled tight around her. He knew she was aware of him but she made no move to acknowledge him so instead of asking what it was that had upset her he simply sat next to her. It took a few minutes just like he’d known it would – she was stubborn and sometimes refused to allow anyone in. But finally she just sighed heavily and laid her head on his shoulder and wrapping his arm around her, he laid his cheek to the top of her head.

“Varric is leaving,” she finally said simply.

“I know,” Fenris replied, feeling suddenly guilty that he held at least some responsibility for this mood. He wished he could explain but painful as it might be, he had his own obligations.

“I feel useless.”

“That’s not true.”

“But it is,” Hawke sighed. “I’m trapped here. Maybe not the same way as the other mages but I’m trapped here all the same. By duty.”

Fenris considered that for a long while, letting the silence settle between them. It wasn’t necessarily a happy one but it was… comfortable.

“Hawke, that has been true of you for most of your life.”

“I know,” she replied bitterly. “And I never truly understood it, not really. Not until I ran away and that is _exactly_ what I did, I ran away. But my life being what it is, I had no choice really but to bow to duty again and come back when what I really want is to be in Seheron where I was happy for once. Happy not to have to play games with people’s lives.”

Fenris said nothing because there was nothing he could say. There was more to it and he knew it.

“Varric is… leaving me. Here of all places. And I don’t know if I will ever see him again.”

“Varric will be back,” he finally told her, “If for nothing else than to finish chronicling your life. You do realize that in order to do it he will have to outlive you, correct?”

Hawke paused a moment, a little taken aback at the thought. No, she hadn’t considered it in quite that way. She was far too annoyed with him about it to have ever put that kind of thought into it. She was silent for long enough that Fenris began to fear she’d fallen asleep when suddenly she chuckled.

“What?”

Twisting her head up she kissed him lightly on the cheek.

“Thank you.”

One eyebrow cocked itself as he looked down at her a moment before he finally shot her a crooked grin.

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

Varric stood on the forecastle of the Wolf of Rivain, stoically studying the harbor as Shrawn’s first rode the morning tide. Behind them Kirkwall was waking, just starting to show its most public face. The docks were already bustling though, captains of all stripes looking to take advantage of the out-going tide to start their voyages to far-flung destinations. Behind him the deck was also busy, the crew boisterously going about whatever their tasks were and obviously glad to be headed back to sea. He refused to look back over his shoulder at Kirkwall.

Over the years he’d laid his head in many places but Kirkwall, for all the challenges she’d placed in front of him and all the times she’d stabbed him in the heart, was home. And he refused to say goodbye to that. As they cleared the channel he couldn’t help studying the Gallows though, high and imposing over wave-lashed rocks. It stood sentinel over the city, guarding not only Kirkwall’s fears now, it guarded her hope as well and Varric well knew that it might be a long while before he would again lay eyes on either.

Which was why he wasn’t surprised when before the Wolf of Rivain cleared that shadows cast by the still rising sun, a bright flare of silvery light drew his eye to the rocks above the wave-line. Shaking his head and chuckling, he raised a hand to the two people he saw there. Neither returned the gesture but he really wasn’t expecting it.

 Just wasn’t Hawke’s way.

Or Fenris’s for that matter.


	52. Chapter 52

At first she didn’t quite understand why but the light that filtered past her closed eyelids prickled like the spines of a bur thrust deep into her brain. Groggy and not entirely sure how to take that, she closed them tighter and tried to understand just why everything suddenly seemed to hurt. And in truth everything _did_ hurt, issuing pain in varying degrees. Why? Suddenly a scene rose up out of the morass of lethargy and throbbing, one of Isabela issuing challenges and hurling insults as she stood with daggers at the ready. All right, she decided this was nothing surprising but why would she be standing between what in her addled memory looked to be a room full of men and a prone body? Suddenly it dawned on her just who the downed and bloody man was and without thought her eyes snapped open and she jerked to sitting. Almost before her body could protest, and indeed it did, a hand landed square and center on her chest and a gentle pressure pushed her back and she had no strength to fight it – the sharp stabbing pain in her ribs sapped it.

“Your prince is no worse for the wear Guard Captain,” a voice, slightly amused filtered in. “He is actually in far better shape than you so please lay back before you do yourself more of a mischief.”

Squinting against the light Aveline could now see issued through a window whose curtains had been thrown back to allow in the light, she automatically swatted at the hand holding her down and was surprised at both her own weakness and its strong refusal to be removed.

“Now, now,” came the answer to her instinctive protest, “Please do settle down. I’ve sent for a healer. My own skills are rather paltry, not good for much more than closing open wounds. Never was much good at being able to picture things in my head. I am a much more visceral type than that.”

Straining her eyes against light that felt as if it were stabbing deep into her eyes, Aveline peered up at the man who had the nerve to be holding her back even if her own body did protest the truth to his words. It took a moment but she blinked as she recognized Julyan standing over her. Surprise stopped her and as she studied the man, one hand clutched to the wrist holding her down she glared at him.

“Why are you here Crow?”

“Oh,” Julyan smiled charmingly, “When Prince Sebastian and his guard left the Keep, making weak excuses to do it, Master Fantin sent me to keep an eye on them. And a good thing too,” Julyan chuckled and, now happy that his charge wasn’t going to reinjure herself, tugged his hand loose as he straightened up. “Considering.”

Considering what? Aveline strained at the throbbing in her head, trying to recall what exactly had happened to land her in this position and only managed some fast flashes of memory. Groaning as concentrating caused the pain in her head to rear up like a riled up bear, all teeth and claws and angry roaring it took her a moment to realize that something was being pressed to her lips. Swallowing automatically she grimaced when she recognized the distinct bitterness of a healing potion. When she choked on it, the bottle was pulled away only to return when she recovered.

“Drink it all,” Julyan’s voice was gentle, almost sympathetic. “I didn’t want to try and force it down you while you were unconscious. It will help the pain.”

Grunting defiantly, Aveline did as she was told none the less and wasn’t surprised when with a lessening of the pain came a fuzziness that her still addled brain had no strength to fight. This potion had something in it to make the recipient sleep as well. Struggling against it, sure that falling asleep would be a bad idea with Fantin’s Tevinter lackey in the room, she glared weakly at the Crow. As if reading her mind Julyan chuckled dryly.

“I assure you Guard Captain I have no ulterior motives here. I am simply doing as my master wishes and it is his wish that I see to the welfare of the five of you.”

Five?

That was the last thing that flitted through her head before the potion won out and Julyan stood looking down at her as she finally relaxed into sleep. Stubborn, he mused before sighing and sitting the empty bottle on the table next to the bed, returning to the chair to resume pondering.

* * *

 “Isabela….”

While the threat in Aveline’s voice was mild it was still a threat and Isabela held up both hands in mock surrender, not at all surprised that her allusion to Donnic had hit the mark.

“Just saying,” she smirked as Aveline paused to glare at her over her shoulder before returning her attention to dusty table of books before her. “You never did say what it was Hawke asked you to look for.”

“A book,” Aveline said with what she hoped was a finality that would stop further pestering. She should have known better.

“A book,” Isabela intoned in a mockery of her. “I gathered that much otherwise why else would I be watching while you mine every bookseller in Ostwick. Now while I do not mind because I have found several of interest myself….” Isabela let her voice dwindle when without looking up Aveline snorted disapprovingly, making her opinion known at Isabela’s choices. Firing a well done look of wounded pride at the guard captain that Aveline pointedly ignored, Isabela sighed. “Wouldn’t it be faster if you told me what exactly it is you’re looking for so that I might be of some help in this hunt?”

Aveline sighed heavily, dropping the books she had been holding down on the table. Turning a hard look at the privateer that Isabela knew from experience not to take too seriously, Aveline glared at her for a long moment before deciding maybe, just maybe she was right. Since she obviously wasn’t going to take a hint and just go away, then let her make herself useful.

“All right Isabela,” Aveline turned to look at her straight on, “Fine. I surrender. You win. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic!”

Aveline chose to ignore the way Isabela bounced on her toes like a young girl excited to be given some sweet and the way the shopkeep’s assistant who had made a point to keep an eye on the two of them watched fascinated as her breasts nearly bounced out of her low cut dress. Shaking her head she wearily explained what she was looking for.

“Really?” Isabela blinked thoughtfully at Aveline. “I wonder why.”

“I have no idea. Don’t really care either,” Aveline turned back to the table and began digging to look through the titles. “She asked me to look, I’m looking. Unlike some people I don’t pry, nor do I gossip.”

Aveline’s barb missed its mark because Isabela was lost in thought, running a light finger across the cover of one of the books. It was one she recognized, a collection of tawdry short fiction from Orlais that she had read long ago. Finally she smiled and turning away from the table to shoot a look sultry enough to burn the eyes of most average men at the shop assistant, wandered away. Aveline didn’t notice because she had once again lost herself in the task at hand, happy only that Isabela was no longer annoying her.

It was some time later, after Aveline had graduated from the tables of uncategorized books to the shelves that she was interrupted when Isabela suddenly appeared, leaned back against the shelves, arms crossed and laughing lightly. Cocking an eyebrow at her, Aveline waited, knowing she had to want something. The hour or so of relative peace while she had scanned through the shelves had been welcome but she had always known it would eventually end.

“You know Hawke spent the entire time we were at sea from Seheron teaching Fenris and those Tal-Vashoth to read,” Isabela finally volunteered. “And they took to it like fish to water. Every time I’d turn around they would be on the deck, huddled up in whatever shade they could find. Hassrath would be standing off to the side like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t interested but you could see he was. That face of his might have expressions carved in stone but his eyes are another story, especially when he doesn’t realize someone is watching.”

Aveline blinked at the almost wistful tone of the other woman’s voice.

“Fenris was the same way, back in the beginning. When she brought him back with her from Tevinter he slinked around like he was afraid someone was going to change their minds and he really was going to be killed.” Isabela paused at the surprised look on Aveline’s face. “What? No one told you this story? I’m surprised Varric wasn’t the first in line.”

“Actually I have seen very little of the dwarf since his return,” Aveline admitted. “And when I did it was because one of us needed something. It wasn’t spoken but I think we both decided it might be better that way considering.”

“Ah,” Isabela smiled. “Well then, I guess I get to be the storyteller for once huh? At least this way you know there won’t be any unnecessary embellishments. Or at least none that I am aware of anyway. I must admit I wasn’t there for a good portion and have to rely on the accounts of those who were, including Varric.”

Suddenly reminded of her earlier admonishment about gossip, Aveline shrugged and returned to scanning the books.

“If it keeps you out of the way, fine,” she did her best to sound noncommittal to the entire idea. “Tell me your story.”

Isabela chuckled and Aveline knew she hadn’t fooled her. Shooting a hot glance at the other woman that Isabela didn’t notice because she was staring thoughtfully off, Aveline decided she could think what she pleased.

“Well, it all started when Jerost, the man in charge of the camp and Hawke hatched this idea about her going to Tevinter….” 

* * *

When next Aveline swam up out of the morass of sleep her first thought, even before opening her eyes was that at least this time everything didn’t just hurt. No now just everything _ached_. That changed though when she went to raise a hand to shade her eyes from the light still streaming in from the open window, less direct now but no less painful to her still pounding head. The moment she tried pain roared up her arm and it was the surprised hiss that escaped her that alerted those standing in the shadows out of her sight. Suddenly a form appeared to lay a gentle hand on hers, pushing her arm back down to the bed.

“No, don’t move that,” it reproved her and her still groggy brain took a moment to place it – Julyan. “It was broken rather badly. The healer set the bones but was afraid to try mending the wound. Said there was too much dirt and other things in there and it might cause an infection.” Aveline groaned and gritting her teeth, glared at the Crow still holding her hand down. Julyan smiled down at her, rather charmed by the older woman’s determination even now to not be seen as weak. “He cleaned it out best he could and will return to see to it. Said when he’s satisfied it won’t cause problems he will finish, but you need to not reinjure it until then and that means don’t go moving it about.”

“Aveline please,” another voice, this one far easier for her to place drew her attention to the other side of the bed. “Do as he says.” Aveline peered up at Isabela a moment, taking in the bruises and bandages and thinking that this looked way too familiar. How many times had they come home from one of Hawke’s adventures looking similar? Far too many really but at least they always made it home and that thought drove an ironic chuckle from her. Isabela shot her a look that told her she knew exactly what she was thinking and smiled. At least that worried look was gone now. “Been a while since I’ve sported the walking wounded look, does it still suit me?”

“Isabela,” Aveline croaked, suddenly realizing her throat was parched, “Every look suits you, which is an annoying habit. Can I please have some water?” Isabela nodded and disappeared from her sight. Turning a suspicious look at Julyan, squinting at him through the light streaming in behind him, she asked tightly, “And can someone please close the curtains before my head explodes? That light is killing me.”

“Of course,” Julyan replied lightly, inclining his head politely before releasing her and turning to yank the curtains closed. With the light’s removal it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to her now darker environs but by the time Isabela returned with a cup she could see she was in a large room, one suited to that of a noble, or possibly that of one of the more well to do merchants. The canopied bed she lay in was as obviously expensive as the settee and tables that sat across the room.  Tapestries and portraits decorated the walls and the fireplace had an ornate mantle that was lined with porcelains and carvings both of wood and marble. Allowing Isabela to hold the cup while she drank, still not completely clear on the extent of her own injuries, she let her eyes settle on Julyan when he returned to the bedside.

“Where are we?” she asked after clearing her throat, pleased when her voice came out with more of its authority than it had before.

“Safe,” Julyan assured her. “This is the home of one of our members. He keeps tabs on things here in Ostwick for us. For obvious reasons he won’t be joining us.”

“Heh,” Isabela chuckled. “Wouldn’t want to compromise your spy now would we?”

“Indeed,” Julyan replied. “I will pass along your gratitude.”

“I’m sure you will,” Aveline returned acerbically. “Now what happened exactly?”

 “Well you must have taken a harder knock to the head than we thought,” Julyan looked at her a moment, brow furrowed. “You don’t remember?”

Aveline was silent for some long moments as she probed at her memory, finding more than a few fuzzy moments within it. Shooting an irritated look at Julyan she shook her head. His reply was to smile reassuringly at her and that annoyed her worse.

“I’m sure it will come back to you,” he finally said, “But for now let’s not worry about it. I take it your head still hurts?”

“It feels like something is trying to break its way out,” Aveline admitted finally.

“Well I have some more healing potions,” he started but paused when she rather predictably shot him a look that dared him to try. “But I see you’re not interested. All right, Isabela and I will go then. You should try and get some more rest. Healed or not you took a beating, you need to take it easy for a while more.”

“Mostly healed,” Aveline pointed out archly, looking at the bandaged arm Julyan had pushed down earlier. He just inclined his head in agreement and smiled before shooing Isabela despite her protests from the room. Before he could close the door behind them something occurred to her and she called, “What happened to Prince Sebastian?”

“We sent him back to the Keep,” Julyan assured her. “His wounds were superficial at best though I suspect he’s feeling his cups by now. Don’t concern yourself on his part Lady Aveline. Rest and conserve your strength for yourself.”

 Did nothing faze this man? He always looked and sounded so pleasant, regardless of the circumstances. He was right though, she _was_ tired. Aveline sighed heavily and looked around the room again until her gaze again fell on her bandaged arm. Deciding to push a little she wiggled her fingers. They were stiff and it hurt to do it but at least they still worked. Laying her head back on the pillow she decided to again probe at her memory and didn’t notice when some time later, sleep snuck up and took her.

* * *

“He did what?” Aveline gasped as they left the shop without packages but not empty handed. Isabela had managed to charm both the shopkeep and his assistant into not only sending out inquiries to any shop that might have the book they were looking for in stock and finding a copy, she had also convinced the shopkeep to allow his assistant to run their purchases to the docks and drop them off at the Siren’s Call for them. Aveline had watched this little play at a loss as to whether she should be appalled or thankful for the privateer’s efforts. When Isabela’s attention was diverted, Aveline had pressed coin into both men’s hands as more corporeal thanks even if they seemed pleased with the flirtatious coin Isabela had used.

“He attacked her,” Isabela repeated, nodding that it was indeed true. “I have no idea why. Only he and Hawke were there. Hawke refused my best efforts to find out and… well… Fenris went right back into hiding. That still irritates me. It’s my ship dammit, no one should be more familiar with it than me and no matter where I looked I couldn’t find him.”

“But why would he do such a thing?” Aveline wondered aloud, only half listening to Isabela now. “She saved him. According to you by that time she’d already told him he was free.”

“Who knows? All I know is by the time I got there it was over. She was standing on top a stack of empty crates we keep on deck and he was staring up at her like she was some demon fresh from the Fade and it was his sworn duty to destroy her. Soon as we got there though he ran off.”

Aveline considered that a moment as the two women turned down the street, not really paying much attention where they were going, just following Isabela’s lead.

“Perhaps that is why,” Aveline mused suddenly.

“What?”

“Perhaps it is _because_ she had told him he was free. From what I have been told he couldn’t have any love of mages after what he was put through in Tevinter,” Aveline replied thoughtfully. “And here he finds himself saved by one, told he is no longer property but a free man who can make his own decisions by one. Maybe _that_ is why.”

Isabela shot Aveline a confused look a moment before deciding it really didn’t matter what the guard captain was on about.

“Whatever the reason, we saw neither hide nor hair of him until it was time to leave the ship. Then he just appeared, standing there looking around like he expected someone to attack. I might have considered it if he’d actually hurt her but as it was he never laid a finger to her. Not even a bruise.” Isabela chuckled darkly. “I always did enjoy showing men with big swords that they could be bested. It always seems to come as a _complete_ surprise.”

“Only,” Aveline laughed, “If they have no real training.”

Isabela shrugged, not the least concerned by Aveline’s observation. There were plenty enough of those around who thought with a sword in their hand they were unstoppable, especially when their opponent was a woman. It was funnier to watch Hawke do it because everything about Hawke was tiny.

“Whatever,” Isabela sighed. “But they always have this look to them, laying there on the ground. Like you castrated them or something.” Aveline threw back her head and laughed outright at that one because she well recognized that look Isabela was talking about. Isabela started, not sure she had ever heard Aveline laugh like that, but after a moment decided to join her. “But that’s not even the best part Aveline,” she finally gasped. “Just wait until I tell you what happened when they got to shore!”

This story, Aveline mused some time later as she looked up at a sky growing dusky, was a long one in the telling. Fitting that since it had been a long one in the making as well. Near as Isabela could recall Fenris had spent over a year on Seheron in the camp of the Fog Warriors before following Hawke to Kirkwall and a great deal had happened in that time of note to the privateer. Hearing the story was good, she decided, not entirely listening to Isabela right at that moment as she recounted a gentle moment she had witnessed, one that had Fenris holding the babe of the elven Fog Warrior he had sworn friendship to for the first time. It was good because it was proof that her friend was still the same, still taking in strays such as herself and trusting even when there was little reason to.

Aveline had over the years worried. Worried that the wound Anders had done to Hawke would never stop bleeding - forget heal. Worried that Hawke would lose that seemingly endless capacity to believe in others more than she had ever really believed in herself. She’d seen it start to wither and die here in Kirkwall as she struggled in her in her position as Viscountess. That was why when Marian had come knocking at her door deep in the night to say good-bye, something Aveline knew she had done with no one else, despite her training, despite her charge as Guard Captain of the proud city-state of Kirkwall, despite the sadness that stabbed deep in her heart to know that she might never see her best friend again, she had simply hugged her and wished her godspeed.

Because Isabela often went off on tangents that had nothing precisely to do with what had happened with Fenris, sometimes to the point she had to be shepherded back to it, she could see now that Seheron had been good for her friend. It had given her something bigger than herself to believe in again, people to trust in again and it had fostered the belief in her that some things were indeed worth fighting for. All were things that Kirkwall had shaken in her. And it would seem that Fenris had his part to play in that healing. Anyone with eyes and half a brain could see he was devoted to her, standing sentinel as he did at her back and obviously more than prepared to put himself between her and anything that might threaten her. She had wondered at it when Carver had told her that the elf was her lover, wondered just who this man was with his Tevinter accent and armor. Now that she knew at least some of the story she still wondered but knew that some things would never be hers to know. And much as she hated to admit it she had to agree with Isabela’s assessment of it, one she had given early in the story – it was all rather romantic.

‘There you go again,’ she chided herself, ‘showing off that you are indeed a female.’

Without realizing it she laid a hand on Isabela’s arm, diverting her attention away from her story. From their vantage, leaned against a wall deep in the heart of Ostwick’s market district, stalls and shops were conceding to the coming night and the now deepening winter cold that came with it. Isabela, engrossed in her tale had not noticed and looked at Aveline quizzically.

“I haven’t eaten since early this morning and that was only some dried meat and bread,” Aveline noted, tipping her chin to the darkening and quieting street around them, “And it is getting cold now. Let’s go find something to eat before we go back to the ship.”

Isabela blinked, realizing that Aveline was right and that unlike the guard captain she hadn’t eaten at all today. Nodding she pulled her cloak tighter and turned her step in the direction of the docks.

“I know a place,” she paused to shoot an amused look over her shoulder at Aveline, one that Aveline was hard put to pin down precisely. “It is an alehouse and inn let me warn you now and rough by most standards. But the proprietor used to be a member of my crew before he married and they are famous across the Waking Sea for the quality of the food they serve.” Isabela shrugged as she turned and again returned to walking. “What can I say? After months and months of sea rations there is nothing a sailor appreciates more than good food and a soft bed, both hopefully hot and liberally spiced.”

Aveline snorted rudely but made no further comment as she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and followed Isabela. She was willing to accept Isabela’s assessment of the place as honest and what was the worst that could happen? Chuckling quietly she admitted to herself that she might come to regret this decision considering her company but she found herself interested to know the rest of the story and who knew when she might find herself in a position to hear it finished.

The inn that Isabela led her to was on one of the quieter streets of the harbor district, but that only lasted until you approached. Even through the heavy wooden door you could hear the noise and Aveline braced herself, knowing she would likely have a headache before she could make her escape. Indeed when Isabela pushed the door open the wall of sound that spilled out was enough to cause Aveline to pause in the door. Most of the yelling and catcalling was centered around an arm-wrestling match at the far end of the large open room. Most of the long tables that dominated the center of the room were quiet, with people either eating, talking amongst themselves or watching the fanfare over at the far end from a less crowded vantage.

“Captain!”

Isabela made a beeline straight for the small bar that crowded itself into the corner closest to the door, a smile as big and honest as ever Aveline had seen as she skirted around behind to throw her arms around the shoulders of one of the biggest humans Aveline had ever laid eyes on. That she had to jump to do it was no surprise - this heavily bearded, dark skinned man was easily as tall as Hassrath though not nearly so bulky.

“Mall,” Aveline heard Isabela admonish as she stepped their direction, planting an exaggerated kiss to what little bare cheek the man possessed. “How many times must I tell you I’m not your captain anymore? That wife of yours has made you an honest man!”

“As many times as I must tell you that you will always be my captain and there is no such thing as an honest man.” He simply took Isabela around the waist and sat her gently on the floor, smiling down at her and chuckling. “And what do I owe the honor of your visit to our fine establishment?”

Now that Aveline was standing at the bar she could see the open doorway that led to a small kitchen that was behind it and the woman that had paused her work to smile at the two, wiping her hands distractedly on her apron. Isabela didn’t seem to notice her though as she smirked up at the taller man, tipping her head to where Aveline stood.

“I’ve brought someone you might just remember along.”

Mall looked at Aveline a moment, studying her closer when he realized there was indeed something familiar about her. The pause he took was long enough for Aveline to realize this man’s blue eyes were far more intelligent than his mean look would imply before she saw recognition color them.

“By the Maker Isabela,” he turned his surprise on the other woman, “You always did keep odd company! It is common knowledge that the Regent of Kirkwall is in Ostwick on some errand to do with our Lord the Teyrn so I am unsurprised that their guard captain would be here as well, but what are you doing in Ostwick? And in such lofty company?”

“Oh I assure you,” Aveline shot in before Isabela could reply. “My company is not nearly so lofty as all that and Isabela and I have known each other since before it was made to look so. I am at the moment simply Aveline Hendyr and not Guard Captain of Kirkwall. For today at least I am nothing more than companion to Isabela,” Aveline paused to shoot a look at the other woman that spoke volumes, “Since she so… graciously offered to be my guide here in Ostwick. I have never had opportunity to walk her graceful streets before.”

“Well she’s a proper one now isn’t she?” Mall looked at Aveline for more than a few moments before turning his eye back to his former captain. Isabela looked like she was at any moment going to break into laughter. “As proper as any would expect from a position of authority!”

“Now Mall she’s serious,” Isabela laughed, “We are in Ostwick and not Kirkwall.”

“It is true,” Aveline smiled, “I have no authority here and no title, even in Kirkwall that should give an honest merchant pause. Please be at your ease.”

“Aye,” Mall finally nodded, “I will. And be assured that I will treat you as meanly as I treat every customer through my door.”

“That is all I ask,” Aveline chuckled, glancing over her shoulder as the catcalling turned to cheers as one contestant finally bested the other across the room. “But I suspect my patronage will be less… spirited than others.”

Mall threw back his head, laughing heartily at her observation.

“So long as their ‘spirit’ is as contained as it is in simple contests, I have no quarrel with the noise they make,” he observed. “Boisterous pastimes such as those make them thirsty and keep my pockets lined.” Pausing, Mall looked over both their heads to the corner where the crowd was even then starting to break up as people returned to their places at the long tables to finish meals left cooling as they watched. “You might even recognize the winner of that little battle.”

Aveline turned to look back at the thinning crowd and was surprised though she knew she shouldn’t be that the innkeeper was indeed right, she did recognize the countenance of the man that sat raking in the coin that had been laid on the table against him – Klaton.

* * *

It was the sound of the door that next woke her and she was glad of it because it told her that her slumbers were now not nearly the exhausted sleep of the wounded as they had been. Her body, with the help of some judicious healing, was coming back to its norms. Ignoring the persistent ache in her ribs she levered herself up on the elbow of the arm not still wounded to look at the men that the door opened to admit. Both shot her disapproving looks to see her not lying on her back but Aveline refused to allow herself to be seen as completely helpless in this. Julyan simply tsked, shaking his head but the other man, the one who she didn’t recognize was much more verbal.

“Messere you should not be sitting up yet, even if you do feel much improved,” the properly dressed man admonished her. “You had two badly broken ribs and healed or not they will take some time to completely sort themselves out.”

“I take it you are the healer?” Aveline asked levelly.

“Indeed it is so,” he nodded as he came to her beside. “And I have come to check on your arm. I cleaned it and left it wrapped in a poultice that should prevent infection from invading while we wait to see if it should be safely healed further.” He paused to lay the back of his hand to her forehead. “No fevers though is a good sign.”

“Exactly what were my injuries?” Aveline asked politely as she allowed herself to fall back to the pillows.

“The broken ribs I have mentioned,” he replied as he began pulling things from his leather bag and laying them along the table next to the bed, “And the arm is obvious. It was quite a bad break; one of the bones of your forearm had torn its way free and caused the worst of the damage. In order to repair it I had to enlarge the wound around where it was poking out. It is my hope that there will be no infection in the bone but there is a chance since it was exposed to air and dirt. You should be aware that it is a possibility.”

Aveline nodded.

“Also,” he paused to pull a chair close to the bed and sit before shooting a serious look at her. “I have been told that you have some memory loss?”

“I do,” Aveline replied in a deliberately light tone, “And had a roaring headache so I will take it that along with the broken bones I took a blow to the head?”

“You did indeed,” Julyan agreed, “One that you are lucky didn’t break that bone as well. Isabela assures me that you are far too hardheaded for that and from my experiences here I tend to agree.”

Aveline snorted, showing exactly what she thought of both their opinions of her.

“Never the less,” the doctor admonished, as he pulled Aveline’s hand out so that he could unwrap the bandages, “I suspect a concussion to be the culprit and think you will recover those memories with time. I would not worry over-much about it.”

Aveline sighed and turned her gaze to the ceiling. She may see grievous wounds far more often than she liked, they were usually on the bodies of someone else. The thought of watching while this man poked about in one he himself had assured her went to the bone was not something she felt herself comfortable with. Shifting her eyes to Julyan where he stood on the other side of the bed, she studied him a moment.

“So Master Fantin sent you to look after Sebastian did he?”

“Indeed.”

“Well from what little I can remember you didn’t do so good a job,” she teased, wondering at his reaction. “I distinctly recall him unconscious with our fair Isabela guarding his person.”

Julyan regarded her levelly a moment, obviously considering his reply.

“I was outside,” he finally replied lightly. “I had thought to keep an eye out for the guard considering the mean surroundings he had put himself in. In Ostwick they will often come into places they feel too… rowdy and randomly arrest those they feel most guilty. And if we are honest he was probably one of the worst offenders. Your prince has no head for ale it would seem.”

That pulled Aveline short though she kept it from those around her. This must be part of the hazy bits of her memory because she couldn’t recall it. Sebastian rarely drank to anything that would appear excess and the few times she had ever seen him drunk he was admittedly a very different sort than he was sober. It was, she suspected, one of the reasons it rarely happened.

“Besides,” Julyan continued after a short pause, his voice teasing her with the same measure as she had turned on him, “Considering the company he was keeping, I thought he would be well looked after in my absence.”

Aveline barked laughter at him, finding his words ironic in of themselves. The laughter was cut short when the healer peeled away poultice the bandages had been holding in place and which had become adhered to the edges of the wound by dried blood. Hissing and wincing but refusing to turn her eye to what it was he was actually doing, she sighed to herself when she saw the pity in Julyan’s eye. She wanted none of that.

“Tell me Julyan,” she asked when she again trusted her voice to not betray just how painful what the healer was doing really was. “Tell me of yourself.”

“There is I fear, little to tell,” he responded promptly. “And most Crows would tell you the same. We have no past to speak of, our present is generally not something we are allowed to speak on, and most of us have little thought of the future.”

“Oh I do not believe that last,” Aveline grunted, “Not about you anyway. What little I have learned of Master Fantin has painted him a man of personal means and ambition. His mere presence in Kirkwall suggests that he has the faith of your order to do what is in its best interest and that tells me he is a man with no end of power inside it. Men such as those do not surround themselves with people not of like mind.”

Julyan bowed his mouth a moment as he watched Aveline struggle against the discomfort of what the healer was doing, her mouth set in a grimly straight line as she regarded him closely. She was, he knew, fishing for information even now. “May I call you Aveline?” When she nodded, he let one corner of his mouth creep up in a crooked smile. He had suspected even with her somewhat formal ways she was at the heart a somewhat informal type of woman. “Aveline then, let me remove one notion concerning the Crows now – we are all of us ambitious. We start our lives helpless and weak and are taught that only through judicious use of either violence, cunning or both will we live to see the next day. That is an ambition we all share, that desire to survive at all cost.”

“That is nothing special, most people share the same.”

“Ah,” Julyan drew out, tipping his head and holding up a finger as he did, “But I beg to differ. Most people were not expected to kill in order to eat. Steal perhaps but not kill or be killed. And taught through violence that anything you have can and will be taken if you are not careful, even your life and that the one to take it may just be the friend and ally you have for years relied on. That is something I survived even though as a child I was much smaller and weaker than some of my competitors. It was not until my powers as a mage manifested that others learned to fear me regardless.” Dropping his hand he paused to pull a chair to her bedside, sinking into it with a well done weariness that Aveline could almost believe to be genuine. “And then it didn’t matter. I was pulled from the only home I ever remembered and sent to Master Fantin. Though he is not a mage he has many within his ranks for various reasons. There someone was assigned to help me learn the control and use of my powers. So,” he bowed his mouth around that word as he looked at her levelly. “You see, I came to his service out of necessity and stayed there because there are few even among Crows that wish to be responsible for even one mage. I am but his humble servant and willing pawn - the same as any loyal Crow.”

Aveline tucked those little nuggets away even as she chuckled disbelievingly at him.

“All right, I will leave off,” she smiled thinly. “I have no mind to watch you dance around the subject even if you are graceful at it. You lived in Minrathous yes? Tell me about that instead if you would be so kind. I am curious and need the distraction.”

Julyan glanced over her to where the healer cleaned her wound, looking pleased as he did. Perhaps he would close it today and relieve her of the notion of any further future discomforts. He rather hoped so because gracious as their host was, amusing as Isabela’s company was, and as interesting as he found this woman Aveline, he wished to be in the Keep. Politics were fascinating and he was sure that his dance around Aveline’s probing was by far less graceful than the dances performed by the men of power ensconced within the thick stone palisades of the Keep.

* * *

“Damn it all Baldovin!”

Baldovin winced as much at the tone as the volume of Sebastian’s voice. He’d known at some point this was going to happen – to most everyone else the Prince of Starkhaven was a pious and judicious man, one who never lost his temper or used a harsh tone even when he did. But ever since he had finally woke after his thunk to the head and the healer had cleared him Sebastian had been… quiet. Unnaturally so. Even when that Crow had ordered them returned to the Keep and they’d had sacks tossed over their heads so that they wouldn’t be able to retrace their steps to the house they had been kept at he had had little to say. And wincing he had left to join the meeting called later that day, his only words to his guard and friend had been an order to remain in the suite of rooms that had been assigned them. It was no surprise that his return, late in the evening, was a loud one because he’d had plenty of time to stew.

“Did things go less than stellar today?” Baldovin ventured without turning from the task he had assigned himself to keep entertained – cleaning his armor.

“No actually,” Sebastian snapped, “They went remarkably well. I think we may just have Ostwick’s support for a landsmeet even if they do doubt our sanity. They are desperate to rebuild their Circle of Magi and the only one in any position to do it is Cullen.” Baldovin heard Sebastian pause a moment to pace, another easily read indicator of his mood – impatience was not something he was known for. “And Cullen is not entirely happy to do it but he will. All of this is going to draw the attention of the Seekers to not only him but Kirkwall.”

“We knew that going in,” Baldovin reminded him lightly.

“Yes, yes,” Sebastian retorted, trying not to wince because his head still pounded, though if  that was from too much drink or the blow to his head he was unsure. “But now we are here and decisions must be made.”

“Decisions you wish weren’t necessary, that you have put off because of it perhaps?”

Baldovin heard Sebastian stop but the prince made no comment for some time.

“I believe I said I would have you drawn and quartered.”

“Oh but we didn’t end up in jail if you will remember.”

Sebastian snorted rudely before sighing long and hard. “I remember very little before waking in a stranger’s house with Fantin’s lackey standing over me to be honest. But no, there was no guard involved.”

“Then maybe,” Baldovin risked shooting a look over his shoulder, sensing that the waters were a little safer now. “Maybe you would consider just having me drawn?”

The sudden mental image of his best friend laid out, cut from sternum to groin so that his internal organs could be displayed to him before the loss of blood could take him suddenly made Sebastian’s stomach turn. This had always been a private joke between them and never had it affected him thus before. Laying a steadying hand to the back of a couch, Sebastian looked away but not before Baldovin saw his color leach from his face. In that moment Baldovin knew that regardless of what had flashed through his mind, Sebastian was thinking of someone else. Putting his armor aside he stood and waited until his lord finally looked back at him.

“You are wrong about one thing,” he said gently when he knew he had the prince’s attention. “The time for decisions may be now, but the time for planning has past. Lucky for you I am a remarkably good planner.”


	53. Chapter 53

**_*Okay loyal readers I have commissioned the extremely talented Mistiqarts (look her up on DeviantArt) to do 5 scenes from Choices. I have 2 that I want done, no questions asked but after much thumping of chests and gnashing of teeth my Beloved Betas (tm pending), twitter followers and I have narrowed the field to 8 choices that I would like you dear readers to help me choose between. I will list the options below (including the chapter they came from if you should want to go read it again before choosing) and what I would like you to do is before September 30, 2012 either drop me a line on here or on my Tumblr with your 2 favored choices from the list._ **

**_*Now I have had people with problems finding my Tumblr. Make sure you are running americancorvus together and if you still can’t get there then Google me as AmericanCorvus. I can’t say this enough - make sure you run it together or you will have to dig through site after site about the North American Crow to find me because that is what an American Corvus is for those of you unaware. In the process you will find me everywhere else in the internet world I use this moniker so feel free to follow me those places as well if we share a site._ **

**_*And just so you know I have also commissioned her to do some simple line art of some of the OCs I have polluting the halls so soon you will have faces to go with some of the names. I’m having Hassrath, Maraas, Fantin, Julyan, Warrick, Tansina and Truss done. I’ll let you know as each becomes available and point you at where I plan on keeping them._ **

**_*So without further ado, here is the list. Thank you ahead for your thoughts on these commissions and as always thank you for being such loyal readers, even when my muse gets crankier than usual. Much love for you all!_ **

**_1) Fenris vs Hassrath (Chapter 46)_ **

**_2) Hawke Steals Fenris (opening scene)(Chapter 1)_ **

**_3) Fenris Meets Varania (Chapter 41)_ **

**_4) Hassrath and Maraas Reunited on Wolf of Rivain (Chapter 43)_ **

**_5) Hawke Grooms Fenris Upon Return in Seheron(Chapter 21)_ **

**_6) Truss Sharpening His Blank Sword (Several Chapters 48 - 50)_ **

**_7) First View of Qunari Dreadnaught (Chapter 26)_ **

**_8) The What I Like to Call “Words Have Power,” Fenris Gets Laid (Chapter 41)_ **

**_*And as a note so I don’t get people going “Wha????” The two that I am having done, no discussion involved are:_ **

**_Hawke and Fenris’s First Kiss_ **

**_Fenris Comforts Rionna After Telling Her Warrick Is Dead_ **

**_*Now… let the games begin!!!_ **

* * *

Hassrath considered Fenris’s profile from the corner of his eye, and beyond him Truss’s. Somehow the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall’s little challenge had managed to adhere himself to the two men, working his way into their little circle without either man really noticing until after it was done. Hassrath has no suspicions that it was an artful act - an attempt to garner position or influence. Instead he suspected that their sometimes harsh treatment of the young man, forcing him to face his own demons in order to start attempting to quell them had awakened something inside Truss – a need to have the protection of companionship where before his anger had insulated him against the world.

Sighing lightly he looked back out at the silent sparring ring, the knights beyond Truss long since had left, even the initiates had finished their cleaning duties and gone about their business. The early darkness of winter had long since fallen and the torchieres had been left burning, the thick pillar candles scenting the air with their tallow and smoke.

Hassrath was unsure why Fenris tolerated Truss’s company but Hassrath himself had come away from the new experience of tutelage with not only a greater understanding of the society of humans but also with respect for a child turned young man that when pitted against its norms found a way. Maybe not a _proper_ one, but a way all the same. It was, after all a basic principle found throughout not only the teachings of the Qun but also the world around them that nature always finds a way. It was no different for the nature of men, regardless of their parentage. The three of them, sat silent on the floor with weapons laid at their sides, armor in various stages of removal and each sipping wine straight from bottles were indeed each proof of it – each had come from a past that had challenged them to survive and each found themselves in presents that challenged them to adapt so that each might find a future… whatever that future might be. For the time at least it would appear that their futures were destined to be intertwined and Hassrath found a comfort in that which surprised him.

And that was why he found Fenris’s… distance to be disturbing. For weeks now the elf, already of few words if he felt none were necessary, had been increasingly quiet. Hassrath recognized introspection when he saw it - his entire belief system was based upon it - but Fenris’s apparent self examination had a darker feel to it than that encouraged by the Qun. It was as if he were wrestling with something deeply held, something important to him. Something had challenged him, calling to question things he had not thought to question before and Hassrath could not help but wonder. Truss was also introspective but Hassrath expected that and his mood was not nearly so dark. Indeed in Truss there was a lightness that was in direct opposition to Fenris, and it would seem that Truss was respecting the older man’s opposite reaction… almost as if he understood it. Hassrath wished he had the young human’s insight because his own beliefs demanded that he respect Fenris’s exploration, calling on him to merely watch and wait for his friend to ask for help.

It was something he found increasingly difficult to do.

When Truss made his exit, begging that he had an early morning ahead accompanying the city guards to whom he’d been assigned on their rounds of the Lowtown merchants areas, Hassrath noticed Fenris studying the younger man’s back as he left them. His eyes, guarded and thoughtful, stayed on the doorway through which Truss disappeared from sight for a long time. Hassrath sighed, drained the last of his wine and gently sat the bottle aside. He was just about to make his own excuses when Fenris finally spoke.

“We need to talk.”

* * *

Hawke stood quietly, something she often found difficult in the best of times which this was not. She had very deliberately chosen her vantage of the proceedings so that she would go unnoticed, coming in after its start and finding a shadowy corner away from the craftily placed torches and candelabras that lit the room. Templars lined the walls, vigilant as ever as they too watched dispassionately the proceedings. To them this assembly must have seen redundant because no matter the cause, mages would _always_ follow their Templars. But Hawke knew that this meeting could easily change the course of things - it could be the difference between a force of committed mages and a force of mages simply following orders. Either could be a force to be reckoned with but, as the mage rebellion itself had very amply proven, mages who passionately believe in their reasons, who believe their path to be just and have the fire of righteousness in their hearts would happily stand ground and fight where ones simply following orders would break. And their only hope to spark that flame stood at the center of the room, looking around great hall at the assembled Circle of Magi, to Hawke’s eye nervous and exceedingly unsure of herself in this situation as First Enchanters Vistana and Jaroslav addressed the mages first.

“She seems… anxious.”

Hawke spared a quick glance at Erwin, the newly appointed Knight-Commander of Starkhaven, who had chosen to appear out of armor and who had found her despite her attempts to appear unobtrusive. Most would not have noticed the Tal Vashoth woman’s discomfort because she hid it well but she supposed that one did not rise through the ranks of the Templars without some insight into the nature of things.

“She is,” Hawke supplied. “As would you be if you knew you were about to be asked to explain yourself and the entire order from which you came.”

“Actually I would have no issues with it.”

“That, Knight-Commander, is simply because you are still a believer in your order. Maraas is not so fervent, for which you should be thankful.” Hawke paused, crossing her arms and sighing sadly. “If she had not had doubts, she would not be here and you would have no opportunity to defend these things you believe in.”

“Oh let us please dispense with formality,” he replied readily, waving a dismissive hand as he turned his gaze back out over the assembled. “Erwin if you please, Sir Erwin if you must. I have yet to grow into that title and it feels disconcerting. And considering your own past I suspect you understand that sentiment.”

Hawke tipped her head, allowing his observation concerning her own titles to be essentially correct. “Champion took some getting used to I admit, but it is one that weighs less than Viscount.”

“Both are things you easily left behind though, were they not?”

“No,” Hawke bristled despite herself, “No they were _not_.”

“But did you not leave?”

“Yes, I did,” Hawke turned a hard look on Erwin, wondering just what this conversation was about and exactly where he thought it was going. “I left knowing that Kirkwall was in good hands, that as regent Carver would see to her, that Guard-Captain Aveline, Knight-Commander Cullen and First Enchanter Vistana would help him to make her something as special as she deserves to be. But I _never_ left the titles, and I _never_ left the responsibility to the people. It is why I am here and _never_ forget that. I could easily have remained where I was.”

Erwin studied her a long time before nodding and turning his attention back to where Maraas now took the stage, trying to explain to the mages of Kirkwall just why it was they needed to fight. This mage was an enigma to be sure he decided, and he did not envy Cullen. Hawke sighed, strangely feeling as if she had just been tested and in some way found wanting. But in the end Sir Erwin’s opinion meant little so long as he understood the gravity of the situation and followed Cullen’s lead, pledging the support of the Starkhaven Circle to the cause they all found themselves facing. Life was no popularity contest though many nobles would tend to disagree and friendship was not necessary, nor was respect, even among allies.

* * *

Truss was completely unprepared when his door slammed open, hitting the wall hard enough that the handle bent and the stone chipped. Standing in nothing but his nightshirt, back to the door his first reaction was to reach for his sword but though he managed to pull it from its scabbard that hung on the armor stand next to his bed he was not afforded the chance to properly wield it. Without ceremony it was struck from his hand, the blow sufficient not only to knock it away to clatter uselessly on the floor but to numb his hand as well. Before he could react to that he was physically lifted from the ground and… tossed, landing gracelessly across his bed. Rolling over, prepared to try and defend himself he was paused by the visage of his attacker. Hassrath loomed over him, his usually stony expression replaced with one that struck fear deep in Truss’s heart. He did not move for a moment, simply stood staring down at Truss with eyes already disconcertingly colored violet now burning with anger. Finally he leaned closer and Truss fought not to flinch as the kossith studied him a moment.

“You knew,” Hassrath finally ground out, his voice deceptively calm considering. “You knew and you _did_ _not_ _tell_ _me_.”

“Fenris asked me not to,” Truss replied, trying and failing to keep his fear of this man out of his voice.

“And you simply did as you were told?”

“I respected his choice, yes.” Deciding that if he were going to die this night he was not doing it lying down, Truss pushed himself up to sitting but could go no further. Hassrath did not retreat and this brought Truss’s face within a handspan of Hassrath’s. “He understands what he has gotten himself into and he asked me to allow him to choose how he confessed - to you, to Hawke, to Cullen…. And I agreed.”

Hassrath did not move, simply stood bent over the smaller man who returned his stare with one that showed far more determination than Hassrath could easily see he felt. He considered what all had been said this night, not only by this young man but by Fenris as well and in doing so remained so still that Truss had to fight the urge to retreat under the cover of Hassrath’s obvious distraction. It was not until several armed Templars arrived at the door, asking what the problem was that Hassrath finally straightened. Without sparing Truss or the Templars a parting glance he marched from the room, unsurprised when the armed men scattered before him, and left Truss to explain. He was in no mood for pleasantries.

* * *

“She is patient is she not?” Jaroslav observed thoughtfully, “Far more so than I would be in her shoes.”

“I suspect it is an effect of the Qun my dear,” Vistana returned without looking away from where Maraas tried explaining some fine point of Qunari culture in answer to a question posed to her. “They are a patient people and I suspect we should be glad of it. If they were half so impulsive as the rest of us tend to be then these kossith would be something to behold. She told me that they were a warrior race in the distant past of their peoples, one that worshipped war as a means to test valor and honor. This prophet of theirs and his Qun tempered them, turned them into a society that sees honor and valor in other things.”

“And still they wage war,” Jaroslav observed, looking at Vistana thoughtfully. “But as a means to an end now. Clever, this prophet was clever.”

“Too clever,” Vistana responded promptly, “Maybe too clever by half. When he sent his followers out to convert I do not know that he foresaw the consequences of it. It is possible that his purpose was to bring harmony to his people and his intentions were good. But they do seem to take things quite… literally.”

“You think his objective was not to conquer the whole of the world?”

“I don’t know,” Vistana replied with deliberate lightness, “And I never will. He took his… _intentions_ with him to the grave.”

Jaroslav leaned back in his chair and turned his attention back to Maraas, thinking that it would be a great irony if they were fighting what would in the great scheme of things be a misunderstanding of a minor point of theology.

* * *

Fenris stood silent and still, staring out past the high palisades of the Circle at the distant lights of Kirkwall. The hour grew late yet still a great many burned in the dark, some lighting streets and public spaces, some lighting homes. Behind him several Templars stood their watch, one there to watch _him_. Though he and Hawke had eventually been given the freedom to roam the Circle they were still discretely watched. That had been something that had worried Fenris when he had first gone to Kirkwall, following the path of the book but apparently the Templars did not care what he might do while off their little island and had not followed. Even as he had discovered this it had brought mixed feelings – on one hand it meant that he could fulfill his promise to Hassrath, on the other… well… had the Templars persisted it could have very well saved him from the position he now found himself.

To say that Hassrath had reacted badly was to put it kindly. To his credit Hassrath had listened to everything Fenris had to say in silence though Fenris’s jaw still ached from the backhanded blow the kossith had delivered at the end of his explanation of himself. He didn’t know it for a fact because the Tal Vashoth had not uttered a sound before striking him down and leaving him to pick himself off the floor at his leisure but he suspected that his anger was because of a point of honor – Fenris had done something that besmirched not only his own but that of the kossith as well. Fenris had suspected this outcome from the beginning – he had learned very quickly in fighting the Qunari that honor and valor were something they held very dear. Fenris’s own world had held no room for either so he had always been quick to exploit it even has he had secretly admired it in them. Loyalty and respect were all that had ever truly been expected of Fenris, even when both had to be forced from him and even now they were really all he had to give to anyone, including Hassrath. His own honor was a nebulous thing, one he knew it was now possible for him to achieve but something he was struggling to understand in terms of himself. Loyalty he understood perfectly and that he was now free to bestow it as he so chose, even at a cost, was something of a point of pride with him. He just hoped that Hassrath would understand because he had come to respect the kossith greatly.

Sighing and watching as his breath clouded the cold night air before turning away to return to the warmth of the Circle, Fenris hoped they would all understand it.

In silence he made his way down several floors, ignoring the sounds of his Templar shadow who kept a good distance behind. Several minutes and as many hallways later found him standing at what he knew was Truss’s door. He had never actually been to the knight’s private room, just as he had never been to the one shared by Hassrath and Maraas, but he had made it a point to know where both were. Just in case, he had told himself, just in case. Sighing he rapped lightly at the door.

When Truss appeared at first his face was stony but Fenris was obviously not who he had expected and the mask fell away to one that was troubled. Fenris was sure he was a sight because even without the throbbing and stiffness of his jaw to remind him he knew his features to be swollen and bruised. Danarius had not made a habit of striking his face, more content to draw blood in other ways and by other means but this would not be the first time he had been disciplined in this manner. He had to admit though, the times prior had not been with quite so much force – he was actually surprised his jaw had not been broken. That in of itself showed even in his anger Hassrath had restrained himself and it was that restraint that gave Fenris just a spark of hope.

Truss didn’t say anything because in truth there really was not much that could be said. Instead he stepped back, pulling the door more fully open in a silent invitation. It was not until he stepped inside that he noticed Truss’s nightshirt was torn, his sword was lying on the floor and he turned a close look at the younger man. Truss met his probing look momentarily before looking away and sitting unceremoniously down on the edge of his bed, turning his own gaze wearily down at the sword. Hassrath had come here he realized, probably soon after he’d left him lying dazed on the dusty stone floor of the sparing hall. It had not occurred to him that Hassrath would turn his ire on the boy but he supposed it made sense. Sighing heavily he knelt down and retrieved the sword from its resting place, only noticing the injury to Truss’s sword hand as he held it out to the young man.

“This is yours,” he said, his voice heavy with regret.

“Are you so sure?” Truss replied sadly.

Fenris reached out and took hold of Truss’s uninjured hand and pressed the grip into it, folding his own around them both.

“Yes.”

Truss studied him a few moments, as if trying to understand something complicated when in fact it was very simple – regardless of circumstances he had earned that sword and everything that came with it.

“It is my crime that has upset Hassrath,” Fenris finally admitted.

“And it is _my_ crime that made him angry with _me_ ,” Truss shot back promptly, a little heat behind the words.

“You’re only _crime_ here is loyalty,” Fenris growled lowly. “There is no shame in it and never forget that! I demanded it from you and I am sorry that it has burdened you far more than I intended.”

Truss looked from Fenris to the sword they both held, studying the lyrium marked hands that held firm to his own. And something inside him broke to see proof of such firm conviction, something he had thought he possessed but now understood his was but a shadow. Fenris watched as tears welled up in the younger man’s eyes, surprised and yet… not. Truss was not so old as he might seem sometimes, life had forced maturity onto him. He watched as he fought against it, struggling with himself until finally the pain of the moment took over and Truss’s face twisted into grief. Unsure now what to do, Fenris watched a moment, uncomfortable in this situation because rarely had he been called to it. Finally he just followed instinct, something that had rarely failed him in the past, and reached up to cup Truss’s cheek in his hand.

“I am sorry.”

Truss didn’t look at him, instead bowing his head over the sword, continuing to struggle with himself and Fenris left him to it. There really was nothing else he could do.

* * *

“I did well?” Maraas sighed, relieved to hear it both from Hawke and Vistana as they escorted her through the darkened halls.

“Oh my yes,” Vistana assured her, a little sad that it had been necessary to put this woman in the unenviable position to have to explain her heritage. To her mages’ credit they had listened politely to her and for the most part been kind in their questioning of her and Maraas had given them a great deal to think about and discuss among themselves. That was the way of Circle mages, forever discussing and dissecting before coming to firmly held convictions. It was a hesitancy that had been taught them. “You did extremely well.”

“I was… surprised at some of the questions they asked of me,” Maraas admitted, “Some were not at all what I expected.”

“Well that’s mages for you,” Hawke replied lightly, “They like to look at things from every angle and perspective and know a problem as thoroughly as possible before they act.”

“Caution is expected of them from the moment they walk through the gates the first time,” Vistana agreed, “Because when you are dealing with something a volatile as magic, you must know and be prepared for any consequence of your action, even those that are unintended. Your life or the lives of those around you could easily hang in the balance. Because of that they tend to look at every problem that way, even those that do not pertain to magic per se. This is why the Circles tend to be places of learning.” Vistana fell silent a moment, folding her hands before her as she considered her words. “In our conversations together you have portrayed your people very well. You made them very real to me and I can see that even though our ways of life will never intermingle easily there is no innate evil in them, just very strong belief that they are correct and that their way is the _only_ way.”

The three women walked in silence for a few moments before finally Maraas again spoke up.

“I left the Qun unsure what I would find out among the basra, unsure even if Hassrath or I would even make it away from Seheron alive when so very many Tal Vashoth did not,” she paused, considering her words carefully. “Among my peoples you would not exist Vistana, or if you did you would exist in only the most hidden of ways. Very few of your people would. And as uncomfortable as it has been for both Hassrath and me to learn, the truth is that there is nothing inherently evil here either, among you basra in general and here among you mages. My people fear magic, they fear this place you call the Fade with its demons and spirits, things they cannot see and can only just fight if they are forced into it. My people do not trust things they cannot study and change comes slowly to them. I fear that the day when our peoples find a common understanding will be a long, long time in coming.”

“We fear it as well,” Hawke replied before Vistana could, “Magic is a dangerous thing that comes to us from a dangerous place. Those without it fear the ones with it and the ones with it live in fear of not only what they can potentially do, but also of themselves; because the truth of it is that magic gives us a power that none of us asked for, that a lot of us wish we didn’t have. Any mage that does not fear the potential for evil inside is a mage that _should_ be feared, by us _all_.”

Vistana shot Hawke a surprised look because this was not something she expected from her. Hawke met her look with an even one of her own but before more could be said Maraas, who was nodding thoughtfully spoke again. “I can understand this and can see it in the way this place works.”

“Place?” Vistana asked lightly.

“The Circle. Hassrath has explained to me that your Templars are without magic and entrusted to guard mages. He says it’s as much to guard against them as it is to protect them.”

“Indeed,” Vistana agreed.

“The Templars are not without power Maraas,” Hawke corrected her lightly. “The day they enter into the Templars they enter into a pact with Andraste and that pact has a price. They drink refined lyrium and that gives them the power to interrupt or even sever a mage’s powers, even if temporarily. But it is also a terrible addiction because once it is inside them they can never live a proper life without it. If you take ale away from an alcoholic he will suffer but only for so long before his body will relearn how to live without. Lyrium is much more insidious than that. Without it Templars will suffer until the suffering itself eventually kills them.”

“Is this true?” Maraas turned a surprised look at Vistana as they finally reached the door to Marass and Hassrath’s room.

“Yes it is. That is one of the many reasons this rebellion among mages is so sad.”

Maraas shook her head, trying to process this information and realizing there was still so very much for her to learn. Pushing the door open, still thoughtful about the complicated relationship that existed between the Templars and their charges, she was surprised when she saw Hassrath. Even a quick, inexperienced look would have revealed his mood, to her practiced eye he all but seethed in emotions she was unused to seeing in him. Before she could say anything he pulled her inside and stood looking down at Hawke in silence. She returned the look levelly even if his entire countenance made her uneasy and she realized that even though she had gotten used to him, she’d never truly learned to trust him, not after the scene on the Siren’s Call when he’d discovered her to be an apostate. It was Hassrath who eventually broke the long, tense silence.

“Go see to your elf.”

With that he pushed the door shut firmly, leaning against the hand that now held it shut almost wearily. Maraas stood confused, unsure suddenly what to do until he finally turned after studying the grain of the wood under his hand for a long time. Without comment he reached out and pulled her to him, folding her against his chest, arms holding her tight. She had seen the pain in his face, the sadness in his eye and knew that something must have happened with Fenris to cause it. She did not ask questions because she knew he would not answer them, not until he was ready to talk. Instead she wrapped her arms around his waist and in silence listened to the strong and steady beat of his heart under her ear.

* * *

Fenris silently slipped from Truss’s room, shooting a baleful look at the Templar that stood outside it waiting for him to emerge before carefully closing the door behind him. Truss had not spoken more, instead he had both wept and contemplated in silence until finally he had lay down and fallen almost immediately to sleep. That he had done so with his sword still in his hand gave Fenris some hope that what he had said to him had made a difference. Not only had it not occurred to him that Hassrath would lay some blame at the young Templar’s feet, it had also not occurred to him that Hassrath’s displeasure would affect him so but now that he considered it he should have on both counts. Hassrath had gone to great lengths to impress upon Truss that knight or no, he was in a very real way still a child. It made sense that Truss would then look to Hassrath for the same guidance that a child looks to its parents for. And it had not been lost on him that Hassrath was becoming fond of the boy; the only real surprise to Fenris was that he now realized that he was as well. It was why he had remained sitting on the floor leaned against the bed next to where Truss sat on it, silently hoping his words and presence were in some way a comfort to him.

Fenris turned his step towards the stairs, no real destination in mind just knowing that the empty apartment he shared with Hawke would give no more comfort than watching over a sleeping Truss had. Hawke was wrapped up in the mages now, in convincing them of the need to fight without blessings from anyone. Fenris knew it to be true himself, had seen firsthand what havoc the Qunari could wreak, had helped pile the dead on pyres, had helped carry the few living left to the healers. The Qun didn’t often leave survivors – if you fought them you died and if you did not? Then you were promptly rounded up and sent deep behind their lines to be molded into proper Qunari or hidden in what amounted to slave labor camps to serve in that fashion. For him the question of need was long answered and though it sent a bad taste through his mouth to admit it, if the Qun set sights on Tevinter then that was where the fight needed to be. If the mages needed a push then Hawke was the one to deliver it.

Fleetingly his thoughts turned to Varric, gone weeks now he should any day see the coast of Ferelden off his rail and the true challenge of Fenris’s charge to him would begin. As irritating as the dwarf could be over the long months since they had been thrown together Fenris had grown somewhat fond of his brash demeanor and he silently wished him Godspeed through the journey ahead for more reasons than the one he had requested.

When he heard his name called he paused, looking around and surprised to find himself surrounded by people – he had been so deep in thought that he had not noticed them. But then the majority were mages and he had noticed that whenever mages congregated they tended to speak in soft tones. He wondered absently if it was a habit learned from living under the iron fist of Meredith or if it was something they had adopted to sooth the anxiety of those around them. It was he saw, Varania that had called his name and as she made her way through the crowd to him he saw the concern that was creasing her brow. Until that moment he had managed to successfully block out the persistent throbbing of his cheek and jaw and he steeled himself for the conversation that he knew was coming.

“Fenris!” she gasped as she pushed past the last of the crowd to stand inspecting his face. “What in all Thedas happened?”

“Nothing that needs to trouble you Varania,” he replied lightly as he could but saw that she didn’t buy it. She did however seem to understand that this particular door was closed to her and let it drop away, instead raising a hand to lie gently over his wounded cheek. Seeing her intention, he laid his own over hers and turned to press his lips gently to her palm before whispering, “Please don’t.”

“But why?” she asked, her brows drawing together, the healer in her confused. “It has to hurt.”

“It does,” he replied softly as he let his hand slide to her wrist and gently pull her hand away. “But it is my pain to endure.”

Varania’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she considered that.

“You are no longer anyone’s slave; no one has the right to abuse you.”

“You’re wrong,” Fenris sighed sadly. “I am a slave to myself and this? It was honestly earned. Please don’t worry about it Varania. Regardless of how it ends, it will end.” Pausing he looked about, suddenly realizing that if mages were in the halls then their meeting must be concluded. “Have you seen Hawke?”

Varania sighed, seeing the ploy for what it was but understanding there was no fighting this stubborn streak he had always had, even as a child. They had not discussed it but she suspected that life as a personal slave to Danarius must have been hard because of it. Looking around herself she replied in a tone that made clear she did not approve, “I saw her with Vistana and that Tal Vashoth woman earlier, but recently no.” She paused as Templars began to politely begin trying to clear the hall because the hour was going very late. “I suppose they must be off discussing things.”

Fenris nodded, still scanning the crowd but seeing no one else he readily recognized among them. Returning his eye to his sister he tipped his head in the general direction of the stairs, a crooked smile on his lips. “Care if I see you to your room m’lady?”

Shaking her head and smiling despite herself because it was a wonder to her but her brother could be very charming when he chose, Varania threaded her arm through his and replied, “Why of course not! Why would I object to such a handsome escort?”

* * *

“I don’t know about you,” Vistana finally broke the silence that the shutting door had punctuated, “But I am not at all sure I liked the sound of that.”

“Me either,” Hawke replied distractedly, still trying to make sense of the things she had seen in Hassrath during that long pause before the door had shut. Turning, she marched to the two Templars standing a discreet several steps behind them. “Go find out where Fenris is,” she ordered the one that had been following behind her all day. When he looked uncomfortable, she pointed at the other man. “I promise I’ll stay with Vistana so he can watch us both but I want to know where Fenris is, _now_!”

When the two simply looked at one another, Vistana supplied, “We can go to her apartment, that way he can watch over us both and you will know where to find us. How is that?”

Finally the two men shrugged at one another and he nodded before turning smartly to disappear down the hall. Vistana sighed, relieved because she could feel in Hawke a level of worry for the painted elf that Vistana felt certain would have caused a scene had the Templar not capitulated. “Well,” she said, laying a light hand on Hawke’s shoulder, “Shall we then?”

Hawke stared past the Templar down the hall a moment longer before nodding wordlessly and turning to follow Vistana’s lead. She was far too preoccupied with could have possibly happened between the two men to make Hassrath look that… hurt to pay attention to where they were going.

Vistana wisely allowed silence to reign, even after their arrival at Hawke’s rooms and instead sat composed and meditative, watching while Hawke paced before the windows. Patience had often not been one of Hawke’s greatest strengths and time had not completely tempered this inclination in her. When finally the Templar had returned with the news that Fenris was at that moment in the company of his sister, Hawke finally sat wearily but only responded distractedly to any attempts at conversation. Despite herself Vistana found herself concerned for the other mage, even given her disapproval and general dislike of the woman. In the end Marian Hawke was a mage and Vistana had long ago made a habit of worrying about her brethren, even before her concern had earned her the title of First Enchanter. It was after all, often mages in emotional turmoil that found themselves at greatest risk of attack through their link to the fade. And so she remained, waiting with practiced patience that she could see Hawke was struggling for.

* * *

Fenris eyed the extra Templar standing outside his door with a jaundiced air. Hawke it would appear had company and he was unsure he wished to have the conversation that was bound to ensue when Hawke saw the state of his features in front of an audience. But he supposed it was going to be unavoidable. He had spent far longer than he had intended in the company of his sister, her telling him tales of their childhood he could not remember and of their parents whose faces he could only just recall. It had been pleasant to watch her smile and laugh as she extolled some exploit of his and her mirth had been infectious even as it has served to reinforce the sadness inside him that these things were somehow lost to him, possibly forever. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door. Hawke, who had been sitting facing the door, was immediately on her feet and he cringed at the look of horror that spread across her face at the sight of him even if it was not a surprise. What did surprise him was Vistana, who after glancing over her shoulder came to her feet, eyes wide and silent.

“What did Hassrath do to you?” Hawke gasped as he pushed the door shut behind him and leaned against it wearily. Before he could formulate a reply he felt suitable for their audience he could see Hawke start to bristle and it suddenly dawned on him to wonder how she knew even that much. Pushing away from the door he went to her, reaching out to cup her neck and eyes closed, laying his forehead to hers. She was not to be distracted though, asking instead, “What madness possessed him?”

“It is not important what he did,” Fenris replied. “It is what I did to him that is of consequence.”

“Are you trying to imply you deserved such treatment Fenris?” Hawke demanded, her anger now beginning to overshadow her shock and she shrugged him off to inspect the damage with what he knew were the eyes of a healer. “That this is somehow justified?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit!” Hawke snapped back at him, turning away. “No one deserves this!”

Fenris decided he couldn’t allow her to work herself into the froth that he could see was coming and before she could do more than a begin the pacing she probably didn’t even realize was her body’s intent, he snagged her arm and pulled her back so that she was facing him.

“You cannot believe that I have not suffered worse Hawke,” he said harshly. “That this pain is more than a pittance to what I am used to. I was a _slave_!”

“But that is the point!” Hawke hissed back.

“Your right it is!” Fenris replied gruffly. “I can handle this way of showing displeasure.”

“You shouldn’t have to! Not anymore!”

“Have you not yourself stuck me? Have I not sported bruises from your own hand?” Fenris was somewhat gratified when that slowed her down, the look in her eye suddenly sad. But Hawke was nothing if not dogged.

“Hassrath had no right, no matter the cause!”

“No his cause was just,” Fenris sighed and the defeat in his voice made Hawke pause.

“What cause could be so… so… important?” she finally asked, her voice soft as she raised a hand to lie on his chest. “Just what is it that you think you have done to warrant this?”

“I am the one that stole the Chant.”

In the thick silence that fell at his soft declaration Fenris heard rather than saw Vistana drop back to the couch behind her. In the moment, determined to make Hawke understand that Hassrath was not the villain he had forgotten her as she stood in silence and he realized that he was far wearier than he had thought. The damage was done though and rather than allow concern he kept his attention focused squarely on Hawke as she stood staring, as speechless as apparently the First Enchanter. She finally looked away, focusing on something over his shoulder as she thought his assertion through.

“But why?” she finally asked when she could make no sense of it.

“I had my reasons,” Fenris finally replied with a lightness he did not feel and knew did not reflect on his face. With Vistana sitting in witness to this conversation he would rather not speak of either Hassrath’s unintentional part or of Truss’s duplicity after the fact. He could see that Hawke was not buying it and that she truly didn’t care that the First Enchanter was present. Before she could say anything he turned his attention over his shoulder to where she sat watching, her expression no less shocked than Hawke’s. “I trust that this conversation will remain private?”

Vistana’s head rocked back a little as she took that in, eyes going thoughtful.

“I am sorry Fenris but I am required to tell my Knight-Commander of anything that comes to my attention that I feel might adversely affect the Circle,” she finally admitted and Fenris silently thanked her for her candor - it meant he could trust her word should it be given. “To not do it would damage the trust that we have worked far too hard to establish.”

“But Cullen is not here, so you _can’t_ tell him,” Fenris pointed out without pause. “And I fully intend to confess to him when he returns. All I ask is that you keep this to yourself until then.”

“Will you return the Chant to those it belongs to?” she responded archly after a short pause to consider.

“I will. It was never my intention to keep it.”

“Never your intention?” Hawke sputtered, shaking him off and turning away, “What pray tell exactly was your intention? Because I am sure it wasn’t to set the entire of Kirkwall on its ear although you have readily accomplished that! I have not seen the people so united, not since Anders destroyed the Chantry!”

“She is right Fenris,” Vistana nodded thoughtfully, “There are calls for blood and it is your blood they want.”

“I know.”

“You know? You know do you?” Hawke snapped, turning to glare at him and finding him standing with his head bowed, his shoulders slumped and eyes to the floor. His face was hidden by hair that was grown long and insanely the thought came to her that she should make him sit still to let her cut it. He stopped her in her tracks, froze the words on her lips because she hadn’t seen this man since she had badgered him into following her from Tevinter. Right now, in this moment Fenris was in his mind and heart a slave and she was his master, free to heap any punishment she chose on his head. And suddenly she understood. Retracing her steps she reached out and hooked his chin, forcing him to look at her from between his long bangs. “Why did Hassrath do this to you?”

“It isn’t important.”

“By Andraste’s singed tits man!” Hawke could not help herself, as she cursed him harshly she dropped her hand away from his chin and straight-armed his chest, pushing him back away from her. “It is important and you damn well know it! You have no more use for a Chant than my mother did for arms and armaments! How is it you stand here so obviously protecting Hassrath when he has already shown you no cause to?”

“Because,” Fenris snarled, his own temper starting to rise now, “Hassrath does not understand! He is nothing but a child here inside this society! And like a child he sometimes doesn’t understand what it is he asks!”

Hawke felt a spark of triumph at his admission and stood staring at him as he glared back at her. It was Vistana that broke the silence.

“You mean to say that it was the Qunari who wanted the Chant?”

“He is _not_ Qunari,” Fenris snapped without looking away from Hawke.

“Tal Vashoth then,” Vistana corrected herself with a put upon air, thinking only this man would worry about fine points at this moment. “Whatever! Why would Hassrath want one?” When Fenris showed no signs of answering, Vistana caught Hawke’s eye.

“You’ve admitted this much Fenris,” Hawke sighed harshly, suddenly entirely too tired. “You may as well confess it all. Why?”

Fenris stood dogged for a few moments more until he saw that Hawke had deflated under the exhaustion he could see in her and he realized that this had been just as long a day physically, mentally and emotionally for her as it had been for him. Watching her it finally dawned on him just how draining it had been to carry this secret because in truth as much as his loyalty had demanded he do what Hassrath had asked and that he try and protect him from the consequences, that same loyalty also demanded that he confess the crime to Hawke. Each day that he hadn’t frayed the edges of his own fragile sense of self-worth, had set cracks running along delicate glass construct that passed for his pride.

He was, he realized in that moment, a fraud, one that portrayed himself as strong when in fact he wasn’t - his strength was standing there looking at him with a mixture of sadness, hurt and anger in her eyes; it was sleeping hurt and unsure, curled around a sword he had sharpened with both wisdom and pain and it had stood in judgment of him earlier and now probably stood profoundly disappointed. It hid in the deep forests of Seheron, with an elven family he had sworn fealty to and with the peoples who hadn’t had any reason to trust or accept him but who had anyway. It lay in a gentle woman for whom he had sacrificed everything and who he had given every reason to hate him but refused to. Fenris, the isolated and abused man who had told himself over and over he needed no one until finally he had come to believe it now realized that strength had been a lie. A fiction he had created in order to survive his slavery and a fiction that these people had proven false - he had just been too blind to see it. It was the shock of this realization that stopped him, that scattered his own anger to the winds and made his knees suddenly weak with something he readily recognized – fear.

When Fenris suddenly buckled, sitting hard on the wood floor and curling his knees up to that he could sit his chin on them, Hawke knew this argument to be over and that given the time to consider himself Fenris would tell her what she wanted. And she was right, after taking some deep, ragged breaths, Fenris told them everything.


	54. Chapter 54

It was late when a polite knock sounded on his door and Fantin looked up from the papers scattered about the highly polished desk that had been squirreled into the corner of the sitting room of the small suite he’d been assigned in the Ostwick Keep. With one eyebrow flitting up curiously and deciding he felt far too lazy to answer it for himself, he just called out for whomever to enter. He wasn’t entirely surprised to see Prince Sebastian’s guard make his way into the dimly lit room.

“Ah Baldovin! I see Sebastian told you that it is all but assured that Ostwick will throw their weight behind a Landsmeet in the spring?” Fantin leaned back in his chair, knowing full well that this would throw his features into shadows cast by the flickering oil lantern hanging from the wall next to the desk. “I am already setting things in motion so you have no need to be concerned.”

“I’m not… concerned Fantin, I know you will see to what needs to be.” Baldovin didn’t bother trying to hide his animosity at the Crow’s familiarity. Ignoring the bruises that still vexed from the fight the night before and straightening to his full height he looked down his nose at Fantin a moment. “How will it be done?”

“Oh I have no lack of people who can have it accomplished with amazingly little fuss considering,” Fantin chuckled, “And in just mere moments I’ll be sending for Julyan.”

Baldovin nodded, realizing that Fantin was not going to easily give him a straight answer before tossing a sealed parchment on the desk before Fantin. Just as well.

“Have Julyan deliver that if you would. The prince asked it be done.”

Fantin nodded, not entirely surprised and not moving to touch the parchment as he watched Baldovin turn to leave.

“Are you sure you would rather not know?” He paused when Baldovin stopped, standing silent with his back to the Crow master. “It is rather trusting you know, leaving this to me alone.”

“Safer that way.”

“Are you sure?” Fantin teased. “I am a Crow after all, who is to say that when all is said and done I will not have earned my reputation?”

Baldovin considered that for a long moment before finally sneering over his shoulder, “I doubt it.” With that he left, closing the door gently behind him to block out the sound of Fantin’s laughter.

* * *

“M’lady?”

Aveline uncharacteristically resisted the voice that intruded on her dreams, momentarily unwilling to return to a reality filled with Crows and privateers and punctuated by the deep aches of healing bones. But the intruder was persistent and when the invasion was repeated, this time punctuated with an attention grabbing gentle shake of her shoulder, she decided enough was enough.

“I am not,” she grumbled sleepily as she cracked an eye to squint up at the offender, “A lady. My family no longer holds any land or titles. Be thankful for that because if it did I might feel it my right to have that hand taken off for your having not only the audacity to enter my bedchambers uninvited, but for laying it to my noble person – again without permission.”

She wasn’t entirely surprised when the grouchy response earned an amused chuckle from Julyan as he stood leaned over her, holding a single candle in a simple holder away so that no errant wax might accidentally drip over onto the bed. Opening both eyes and sniffing thoughtfully she regarded him silently a moment as he returned the favor, wondering just what he could want at this hour.

“And to what do I thank for this unexpected visit?” she finally quipped as the fog of the Fade began to burn away. “You have always been the one most insistent that I sleep and recuperate.”

“Ah but circumstances have changed Guard Captain,” he smiled widely and Aveline could almost believe the friendliness of it was genuine. “I have been summoned to the Keep and would rather not leave you to those who do not know you. Isabela has already been sent back to her ship along with her first mate.” He finally straightened, and gently sat the candle to the side. “You are after all my responsibility.”

Aveline grunted as she pushed herself up to sitting, sighing as her body protested in a myriad of ways the bold movement. Musing that at least the healer had decided that closing the wound on her arm was less dangerous than leaving it open, she sighed and regarded the Crow closely. He didn’t seem to mind; instead he made for a wardrobe and pulled the doors open. After a few moments he returned with a simple tunic and trousers, neither of which was hers. Deciding she really didn’t want to know what happened to her own clothes, she reached out and fingered the tunic a moment until she realized that Julyan was just standing there watching her. Blinking at him a moment she finally realized he was waiting for her to get up and showing no signs he intended to leave her to her privacy.

“Oh,” she shook her head and pointed at the door, “I don’t think so. You want me dressed then you will wait in the hall.”

“I _do_ think so,” he replied in a light tone that was tinged with just enough stern steel that it was clear he wasn’t going to listen to any argument. “You are not fully recuperated and I will not be responsible if you reinjure yourself.”

“No,” Aveline folded her arms stubbornly. Nothing irritated her so much as being told, even kindly, that she could not do something.

 “Guard Captain….”

“ _No_.”

Julyan sighed with just a tint of irritation to it and Aveline resisted the urge to glare at him. She was however unprepared for what he did next. Without warning he reached out and gently snagged one of her hands, pulling it to him to convince her she wanted to look at him and not mulishly ignore him in favor of the dark that ruled past the end of her bed. He regarded her for a long moment, eyes reflecting the same hint of impatience that his voice had but otherwise his expression was soft, as was his voice when finally he spoke.

“Aveline,” he murmured, “I have been ordered back to the Keep and part of those orders said I was to dispatch the lot of you since the healer has seen to the worst of your wounds and the rest can be seen to by any competent healer, even one that isn’t a mage like ours. And in the case of the others I had no issue but with you I cannot in good conscience do it.”

Taken just a little aback by not only his tone but also his choice of words, Aveline studied him a moment.

“Why not?”

Julyan sighed.

“I said,” Aveline shot, using her best ‘I am the Guard Captain and I demand to know’ tone, one that even worked on Donnic regardless of whether they were on duty or not, “Why not?” It didn’t have quite the result she wanted because at first Julyan blinked at her and then slowly smiled at her cheek. This man was a cipher she didn’t think she would ever unravel. But finally he chuckled and tipped his head.

“Because,” he admitted, “Your injuries were worse than we let on to you.” He paused, his face suddenly very serious. “The truth is Aveline Hendyr, Guard Captain of the city-state of Kirkwall - you could very easily have died.”

Aveline blinked, taken completely by surprise. Julyan used her pause to reach out with his free hand and pull the covers away from her. Before she could recover enough to protest, he pulled her to her feet. Once again she was distracted but this time it was a rekindling of her body’s dissent that kept her from objecting. Wincing and suddenly lightheaded, Aveline stood cursing under her breath. To no one’s surprise least of all Aveline’s, Julyan noticed as she stood swaying on her feet and his mouth compressed into a grim line as he quickly slid an arm around her waist as support. They stood like that for no short time while Aveline recovered, unashamedly leaning on the Crow for support and deciding that considering, he might just be right.

“All right Julyan,” she finally admitted acerbically, refusing to look him in the eye as she did. “Let’s get this over with.”

Julyan had made a decision standing there with Aveline there under his arm - he wasn’t going to turn her over to the Crows he had arranged and that waited out in the hall to escort her back to the Siren’s Call. This stubborn woman would ignore good sense and push herself too hard if left alone and he doubted that Isabela would be capable of pounding good sense into her. She was coming to the Keep with him - at least there he could deliver her into the care of Prince Sebastian and with her firmly held respect for both the man and his title there was at least the chance she could be properly kept in her sickbed. When she finally admitted her weakness with her usual aplomb he could not help a very genuine smile, one that had she been looking and been of a want to believe, would have told her very handily that Julyan had decided he was becoming rather fond of this usually unflappable woman.

* * *

“Klaton!” Isabela called as she made her way through the crowd that was now returning to their meals and companions. He didn’t hear her at first over the din of the room, busy instead smiling and raking his earnings into a pouch but when she called him a second time his head snapped away from the man with whom he had been talking.

“Ah,” the stranger replied, “If it isn’t your lovely Captain Isabela! Your mate here just made himself a pretty purse!” Turning his attention back to Klaton he clapped a hand to Klaton’s shoulder. “You have been too long gone from this port if none remember Klaton of the Siren’s Call’s reputation for never losing.”

“Indeed,” Isabela returned, her tone very close to a purr. Aveline, who was just a step behind her rolled her eyes at the back of the privateer’s head but said nothing. “It _has_ been too long if I can’t recall _you_.”

“This is Captain Borya of the privateer Cumberland Wake,” Klaton supplied.

“Ah and such a pretty ship as well,” Isabela smiled, “But last I heard Drust was the Cumberland’s captain.”

“And I was his first,” Borya smiled and bowed in a mockery of formality. He was Aveline noted, not an attractive man, his eyes far too small and his features hawkish by half to be considered so. But he did appear to have a certain rough charm that showed in that confident smile. “He contracted the sweating sickness during an outbreak in Treviso. Unfortunately so did about half the crew. After it was over I was left in charge of a ship with not much more than a skeleton crew but after a few months and a few ports of call I managed.” Borya paused as his eye fell on Aveline, narrowing thoughtfully until finally he said, “I know you, you are the wife of Donnic Hendyr.”

“I am,” Aveline blinked in surprise, “Have we met?”

“No but I know Guardsman Donnic Hendyr well.  He once saved a young deckhand that was too far in his cups to rightly defend himself against a gang of thugs down on the docks of Kirkwall. _And_ he has arrested me more than a few times over the years when I wasn’t so incapacitated and _could_ fight.” Borya nodded thoughtfully. “And that means you are Guard Captain Aveline Hendyr.”

“Indeed,” Aveline replied, wondering what he was going to make of it. “I am.”

“Well,” Borya chuckled thoughtfully, “Please send my regards. I rather _like_ your husband, even if our conversations do tend to be somewhat tense.”

“I will,” Aveline nodded.

“Borya here is more than happy to take those Tevinter tapestries off our hands,” Klaton supplied to fill the silence that then fell. “I thought I would have more trouble unloading those.”

“Ah but I have a man in Val Chevin that is always interested in such things. He has a clientele of nobles that apparently appreciate such…” Borya paused, struggling to find a proper description, “Such vulgar eroticisms as depicted on those tapestries. I imagine the magister that commissioned them is very upset that such one of a kind masterpieces were stolen before delivery.”

“They are revolting,” Isabela returned lightly, never losing the soft sultry tone she favored Borya with. “I am quite happy to deprive this magister if those are the types of things he does with his slaves.”

Borya chuckled, and lifting his wooden tankard, tipped his head in agreement before draining the last of his ale. Standing, he again clapped a hand to Klaton’s shoulder. “I will send someone to the Siren’s Call at first light with payment and they will see to the tapestries. I’m hoping to be on my way before the sun rises too far. I’ve been contracted as an escort. Boring but it pays well.”

Borya politely made rough farewells, pausing to catch Isabela’s forearm as she went to take a drink from her tankard. Eying the Siren’s Call’s captain he pulled her arm to him, lightly brushing his lips over the inside of her wrist before turning and leaving. Aveline shook her head as she watched Isabela pout and brazenly watch after Borya’s retreat to the door. It didn’t take much to deduce what it was she was studying but Isabela put any doubts to rest when she turned back to her drink and murmured, “Such a _nice_ ass.”

“Really Isabela!” Aveline snorted indelicately, “Why must you be so obvious?”

“Because,” Isabela fired back promptly, her voice amused that she had managed to get a rise from the guard captain. “Life is too short and there are far too many tasty morsels out there to be had! Why waste time on formalities?”

“Oh Andraste’s sweet tears,” Aveline grunted, taking a long drink from her own ale because she knew it was useless to try and reason with her. Isabela chuckled before turning her attention back to Klaton. The two quickly fell into a discussion of the goods that Klaton was to see sold and Aveline decided she really didn’t need to know these things. Instead she turned her attention to the room around them and to those that inhabited it.

This was, Aveline decided after a few moments, not so dissimilar from the alehouses she’d frequented as a young soldier in Ferelden. Its appearance was rougher true but the feeling was much the same – a general camaraderie pervaded the place because they were after all sailors every single one, even she suspected the old men that sat scattered among their younger brethren, laughing and telling stories that earned them free drinks. They all faced the same challenges and hardships, all risked the same deaths. But the camaraderie was tempered with pride - pride in their ship, in their crew, in their captains and there was an unspoken agreement that should any of those be slandered there would be repercussions that could see someone injured. Yes, it was very like the aleholds of Ferelden that littered her memory and Aveline found herself relaxing, even knowing that anything could happen at any time.

And just to prove the point, as she scanned the room with the sometimes critical eye that had served her well in the past she found she recognized the two men who just came through the door. Although their dress was simple its quality stood them out in this room of ruffians and she saw had already attracted the attention of some of the locals.

“Baldovin! Sebastian!” she called over the general din of the room, raising a hand when she saw they had heard but couldn’t find their observer. When the two made their way to them, Aveline stood and looked at them both disapprovingly. “What in Maker’s name are you doing here?”

* * *

In Ostwick ponies were a bit of a fashion. It had started off innocently enough as necessity as a great many of the city streets were narrow and made deliveries by full-sized steeds dangerous to citizens on foot. Because of this a sturdy breed of pony ordinarily found wild on the mostly uninhabited volcanic island of Brandel’s Reach was introduced generations ago by the burgeoning merchant class to help facilitate deliveries without causing issues with locals. As word spread via ship to various ports, Ostwick garnered a reputation because a great many thought the local habit ‘charming.’ Over the years some of the ponies were born smaller than their counterparts and the nobles, deciding this was just too enchanting, would buy those rare specimens as pets and if possible breed them. Now Ostwick was home to several different kinds of ponies, each bred for different characteristics and each of differing sizes.

The one that Aveline had found herself sitting uncomfortably on was one of the strong and sturdy ones that pulled carts and carried heavy loads with ease. Even so, at first she felt as if the poor thing might break under her weight, unreasoning as that was. It had not helped that Julyan insisted that she be blindfolded so she would not know the location of the home of her unknown and unseen benefactor. She had argued with him at first, mostly because she had felt it necessary to voice how unwarranted she felt it was. She had known she wouldn’t win and to her irritation it had only served to amuse Julyan. So she had been blindfolded and a heavy cloak with a deep hood had been thrown over her shoulders. Before she could take a step or even protest, Julyan had swept her up and carried her through the halls to where he had deposited her on the back of this small steed. At first, blinded as she was, it had been a bit of a surprise to realize that even mounted her feet reached the ground, but Julyan had gently placed her feet into stirrups that kept them from dragging, explaining what was happening as he did in a soft voice that despite herself she found soothing. And as the trip progressed in the darkness created by night and blindfold and taking she suspected longer than ordinary because Julyan was leading the pony in an indirect path to keep her from surmising directions, Aveline found herself tiring and relaxing into the idea of her small mount, enough so that she eventually fell asleep.

Julyan, who had been keeping an eye on her as he walked at the gentle mare’s lead, noticed and immediately forewent the convoluted passage he had planned and instead made directly for the Keep, pausing only to slip the blindfold down off her eyes to rest around her neck as they approached the Keep. He was greeted in the courtyard by a servant sent by Fantin to facilitate his acceptance by the guard and who seemed a bit surprised at the company he had brought but willingly went scurrying off to Prince Sebastian’s apartment at his request to prepare them for Aveline’s arrival. Without fanfare, he pulled Aveline from the mare and cradling her gently to his chest, unwilling to hold too tightly to wounds still healing, and followed after the servant at a more leisurely pace given his burden. Her only reaction to the change had been a muffled protest before instinctively curling an arm around his shoulder and burying her face in the crook where his neck met his shoulder.

Julyan had to admit during his long walk up several flights of stairs and more than a few hallways that not only was the guard captain much lighter than he had expected, this softer side of her was intriguing. Until now he had only seen her as Guard Captain of Kirkwall, a woman with a strong presence who both knew when to step forward and take control and when to stand in the shadow of greater men, watching and listening with equal care. She might not see it in herself but even with her brusque demeanor she was a consummate diplomat, albeit one that tended to speak her mind instead of what everyone wished to hear. Even gravely injured her first thought had been for those she had been with and only once she knew them to be safe had she conceded to her own wounds – at least as much as it would seem Aveline ever conceded. Even weakened she stood ready to fight with far more pluck than a great many Crows he had seen.

He was met at the prince’s door by the same servant and the prince’s personal guard who quickly ushered him inside. He was led to a small bedchamber and looking around he realized that this Starkhaven noble was giving up his own bed for a woman who in the grand scheme of things was a commoner. Tucking that little piece of information away, he gently laid her on the bed. This time she woke and looked up at him as he leaned over her. She was pale and there were lines in her face that spoke of weariness and pain, but still she looked up at him with an intelligent eye.

“You are at the Keep,” he murmured as he kindly untied the blindfold and removed it from around her neck, “And I am sure that Prince Sebastian will see to you now. I must be going. Master Fantin has an errand for me.”

“Will you be back?” she asked.

“Oh I am sure we will see each other again Aveline,” he chuckled as he straightened, reaching to pull the covers over her.

“Then I won’t say goodbye,” she returned before rolling cautiously over to her side. “Godspeed instead?”

“Oh I am not entirely sure that I am at all what the Maker would consider a suitable recipient so I doubt my passage will be blessed,” he chuckled dryly. “But thank you all the same.”

With that he bowed formally and turned to leave, brushing past Baldovin who had watched silently from the door and whose eyes he felt follow until he closed the door behind him. Sighing, glad that this chore was over even if he suspected he might miss the convalescent’s witty ill humor, he turned to follow the hall to Fantin’s apartment. Distracted he was unprepared when the Crow master stepped out of the shadows cast by the torches that lined the hall. Fantin regarded him silently for a long moment and Julyan knew he was considering – considering the fact that Julyan had not left Aveline to the local Crows to see to and come scurrying to the Keep at his summons as had been his orders. Julyan had expected disproval and met his steady gaze for a moment before letting his eyes drop so he didn’t see Master Fantin’s eyebrow twitch upward just slightly before he turned away, leaving Julyan to follow.

* * *

As they each sat, bellies bloated with meals chosen from the somewhat limited though extremely well done menu and all well into their cups, Aveline mused that this might have started out as a rather aggravating day but all in all it had managed to work out rather well. Although the surroundings still left something to be desired as far as she was concerned the heady combination of good food, a surprisingly good local wine as well as some superior imported ale, and the general good company at their far end of one of the long tables had made for an enjoyable evening. Isabela and sometimes Klaton had entertained them all by telling of the adventure that they had been on since Hawke and her motley companions had joined them aboard the Siren’s Call, and indeed as Isabela recounted the mad dash through Qunari waters and how Hawke had saved them all, Aveline found herself just a little jealous. In true Aveline fashion she found herself questioning the privateers as to fine points of that night, curiosity as well as her tongue loosened by even the temperate amount of wine she had consumed.

Not everyone was so moderate though. Across the table Sebastian was drinking more than Aveline could ever remember seeing. Well except possibly for one occasion – the day that Hawke had disappeared from Kirkwall without word to anyone but Aveline. That night he had drank himself into a roaring drunk in his hurt and disappointment. Sebastian had believed in Hawke with fervency to rival his faith in the Maker. He had stood beside her even as her apostate status tweaked at his sense of order, dispensing with equal loyalty his open-handed wisdom as well as his closed-fisted martial abilities. He had stood at her side after… what happened with Anders and more so after her elevation to viscount, always there not only to back her with what influence his titles might offer but also ready with any advice she might require. His hurt at what he saw as a personal betrayal that night had known no bounds and it had been left to Aveline and Merrill to see him through it – no one else really understood.

It had been Merrill in her often innocent observations of others that had pointed it out to Aveline years before and after watching over time she realized the Dalish elf had been right - Prince Sebastian was, in his own chaste way, completely smitten with the apostate mage that had marched into his life like an army of one, promising to help him treat the memory of his family with far more kindness than they had often treated him. He had hidden it well, well enough that it had taken Merrill, who tended to view her companions without the color of a complex society to see it for what it was, possibly well enough that he hadn’t really understood it himself until that night when he felt abandoned. Aveline had never spoken of it with him after that night and suspected that he had been too drunk to recall much if any of it come morning, had respected his feelings enough to guard her knowledge and ensure that Merrill did as well. It hadn’t taken much because the blood mage had been remarkably sensitive to the feelings of others.

As she watched him take another deep drink of the tankard of strong Anders ale, she wondered just what had him willing to drink stronger than the sweet red wines he usually favored. When Baldovin caught her eye she could see that he was aware but since drunk was not something you could quite label Sebastian as – tipsy would perhaps be more accurate – he wasn’t going to say anything so she decided to follow his lead. He probably had more of the picture than she did anyhow.

When a minstrel arrived, one that was quite cleaver with her lute and whose voice was superior to what one would expect in such mean surroundings, she quickly attracted Sebastian’s attention. He began to sit quiet while everyone else traded stories and did not join in the laughter or companionship of his friends. Instead he had his tankard refilled while he listened to the often times rowdy, sometimes raunchy and on occasion melancholy tunes that were paid for with sovereigns tossed carelessly in a metal container that the bard had set out on the floor for just such use.

* * *

Sebastian had been unable to shake his sour mood. Baldovin had left the choice of where exactly they went after leaving the Keep to him and after wandering the streets for no small amount of time, passing more than a few establishments of better repute he had at random picked one. In truth his head and heart were not in this excursion any more than they had been completely founded in the meeting of the day. Suddenly it all seemed real, the dangers had come into stark focus and try as he might to put all that aside and act like the diplomat that he had worked so very hard to become in his life he found he just couldn’t. There was just too much at stake, not only for the kingdoms and principalities and the peoples they were sworn to govern and protect but for people that mattered to him personally. He could easily see what was being risked, what was in danger of being lost forever, and indeed who as well.

And when in an act of fate the alehall he had chosen had contained Klaton, Isabela and Aveline it had darkened his mood even further.

 Though he had never truly approved of Isabela or the choices she made he had to respect her for her determination to do as she wished and unashamedly stand by those decisions even should they be proven to be wrong. He had always understood that his disapproval of her had stemmed from turning his back on his own reckless youth more than anything and it had once been a shame to him that he envied her. Over the years his contact with her had become less and less as she returned to her beloved seas, eventually halting altogether when she had spirited off in the night with Hawke and he had returned to Starkhaven, but their reunion almost a decade later had shown her to have not changed much if at all. Perhaps a little wiser with age, a little more cautious but still impetuous and headstrong, they had had several lengthy conversations since his arrival and in that time she had found it in her not to flirt incessantly the way she would have years earlier. Something inside him missed her teasing but he saw it for what it was – respect. Isabela had learned to respect the choices others made even if she didn’t entirely agree or understand. She had grown, maybe not entirely grown _up_ , but grown all the same.

Aveline had not changed at all, still steadfast and resolute, she had flourished in the niche she had bravely carved in the bigotry that had existed in Kirkwall towards the Ferelden immigrants all those years ago. He had learned to value her probably more than any of the old companions for her brusque manner and refusal to accept what she would so eloquently call ‘bullshit.’ He knew she saw herself as nothing particularly special but she was in fact extraordinary – a friend who could be depended on to watch your back, hold your secrets to her chest and even as she felt your pain as keenly as you did happily kicking your ass to make you realize melancholy served no useful function. Indeed he was aware of her sly observation and knew she was wondering if she should intervene, possibly held back by Baldovin’s presence because she knew him to be as fast friend as anyone of royal blood was likely to have.

Perhaps that she was why the Maker had led him here, he mused while he listened absently to his companion’s conversation as he watched the bard, to remind me of that.

Sighing, realizing that he was more than a little drunk, he decided that his mood was never going to improve sitting here. Standing abruptly, he made his way over to where the bard stood, lute slung over her back as she recounted an old tale of the Waking Sea and the men and women that had plied her in times past. He knew that Baldovin was watching, not entirely happy about the situation but also understanding that his friend needed distance. Ignoring them all completely he allowed himself to be lost in this woman’s softly dramatic voice and the tale she told, in the warm fuzziness the ale had created inside him, and in this single moment in time. To the Void with tomorrow, let yesterday vanish into the Fade where it now belonged, both nothing more but the stuff dreams and nightmares were made of.

* * *

Baldovin could feel Sebastian’s dark mood, it did not just surround him like a miasma it rolled off him in waves. While he suspected at least part of its cause it worried him. For all Sebastian’s comfort in his role as leader, counselor and diplomat there was something inside him that still chafed under those expectations. Never would he foreswear any of the obligations he had made – not to Goran, not to Starkhaven and certainly not to the church itself – but there was something inside this contained and gentle man that still longed to run wild, to throw off the shackles of responsibility and just allow himself to be the man he was. And sometimes, when the weight of his duty started to become more than his vows in his life could sustain, he needed a release. Sometimes it was something physical that would break the back of his mood – a vigorous sparring match or a long, hard ride through the countryside. Sometimes it something like this would do the trick though opportunities for anonymity were fewer in the walls of Starkhaven. Whatever its form the catharsis kept his mind focused, his will determined and his spirit satisfied. It was a secret between the two that heralded the trust with which Sebastian bestowed on Baldovin and one that forged a friendship that nothing could possibly sever this side of the Void.

He could see the others were aware of Sebastian’s humor and sensed that Isabela was ignoring it, accepting that it was part of the evening they were having. A forgiving woman, Baldovin mused because in truth until their arrival in Kirkwall he had no frame of reference for these people beyond the stories that Sebastian told. Klaton appeared to be following his captain’s lead and while throwing occasional looks was for the most part pretending that the prince wasn’t there. Aveline… well he could see that Sebastian’s descriptions of her character were as true to the mark as were his arrows. She was not only aware she was silently watching its progression from the corner of her eye, occasionally looking to him for a consolation that what was happening with Sebastian was not only something he too was aware of, but was something that indeed concerned him even if he did nothing to prevent it or slow it down.

When Sebastian left the safety of his side, wandering tankard in hand to stand within the crowd around the minstrel, Baldovin felt himself grow still both inside and out. Now it was his turn to ignore the people he found himself sharing this evening with, trusting Sebastian to know them to be worthy of the faith he had placed in them. Should an incident occur, even here in Ostwick it could damage a reputation the prince had spent years cultivating in ways that couldn’t be foreseen and gossip, however innocent, could precipitate the fall.

* * *

“Your ship is the Cumberland Wake and her captain is an oddly honest pirate that goes by the name of Borya. He has worked for me before, as did the previous captain. I don’t think you should have any problems from him considering the wage he’s been promised, especially since he knows that I will… follow through.” Fantin leaned back against his desk, looking Julyan over closely and seeing nothing that he found odd in the mage’s demeanor. “You will meet up with the Rialto Sunrise at the horn of Brandel’s Reach and transfer our cargo to the Cumberland Wake. Borya knows your destination and you already know what to do from there.”

Julyan nodded, mind already on getting quietly from the Keep to the ship which he knew would sail at first light. Although he could feel Fantin studying him, he kept it from showing. He had never given Fantin reason to pause and consider his actions before and knew that this minor insubordination would not be enough cause for censure. Although Fantin enjoyed having his orders followed, he also expected those serving under him to show a certain initiative and adaptability and that made him more lenient than some Crow masters so his scrutiny, while uncomfortable, was not something Julyan feared.

“Everything else will have been seen to by the time you arrive.” Fantin paused to fold his arms and sigh. “I don’t need remind you that you will be _completely_ responsible for the cargo as I will be taken out of the loop so to speak. You should be aware though that should anything go wrong it will not go well for either of us, on a whole slew of levels.”

Julyan met Fantin’s eye and understood that this was more than a simple chore. He was still unaware of exactly what it was he was taking charge of and could see that Fantin was not going to share. That told him it was something of great importance, something that could see them both in their graves. After nearly seven years in Tevinter nothing really surprised him and the fear of death had been beaten out of him as a child. Nodding thoughtfully, he bowed politely and turned to make his departure, wondering if he was to be informed of the real nature of this assignment before meeting the Rialto Sunrise or if it was to be left as a surprise.

“Oh,” Fantin added casually, causing Julyan to pause. “The prince asks that you deliver this.”

“To?” Julyan asked as he accepted the sealed parchment Fantin offered.

“Why your ‘cargo’ of course,” Fantin chuckled as he saw Julyan tucking that bit of information away before shooting an intently serious look. “See to their safety the same way you did our beloved Aveline Julyan or there will be a heavy price to be paid.” Fantin watched as Julyan nodded and left, staring thoughtfully at the closed door he disappeared through. “But it most likely won’t be Crows demanding we pay it.”

* * *

Sebastian could not remember having such a good time! Eventually he had gotten tired of standing to the side, apart from the laughter and diversion that ruled at the tables of ruff men and women. Spotting an empty seat he had boldly sat there, a rough-hewn man with a surprised but drunkenly amused and tolerant expression to one side, a rather easily admired woman on the other. She was actually part of the reason he had chosen to be seated – his dark mood still clung to him like a dark malaise and if there was one thing Sebastian had discovered early in life it was that nothing was quite as distracting as an innocent flirtation with a pretty lady. Before any one of the woman’s… friends could begin to object to his brash action, he waved at the tavern girl and loudly announced that drinks were on him, eliciting a prompt and rowdy response and all but assuring his acceptance to their little party so long as his coin purse lasted.

And it had been easy to flirt with this woman, even challenging because unlike a great many of the women he had become accustomed to she didn’t treat it as coy sport but rather more like a sparring match – a test not of civility and subterfuge but of wit and mental fortitude. It was refreshing and he found it hard to resist because nothing inspired Sebastian so much as a challenge, even one that had no hope of resolution as this one would.  But whether from the ale or the company it never occurred to him to thwart her when she grew brassy along with clever and began slipping closer until soon they sat hip to hip, her head on his shoulder as they divided their attentions between the bard’s songs, the drunken camaraderie at the table and each other. When Sebastian deftly caught the hand that he suddenly noticed creeping stealthily up onto his thigh, he smiled charmingly at the pretty and it would seem determined woman sitting next to him. She responded by shooting him a appealing pout for disrupting her plan so he gently brushed his lips along the inside of her wrist before cocking an eyebrow at her.

“For shame,” he teased lightly, “A lady should not seek such things….”

“What’s that?” she blinked at him before throwing her head back and laughing. “When did I claim to be a lady?”

Before he could hope to stop her she leaned forward and planted a rather passionate kiss to him. For a moment his grip on her wrist tightened but his fuddled mind paused and it was all the encouragement she needed to deepen it further. He allowed it without thinking, relaxing into it and enjoying the feel of her as her hand slipped out of his and around his shoulder and into his hair. This was nice he decided, all warm and wet and as thoroughly intoxicating as the ale he’d been imbibing. It was, after all, just a kiss and it had been such a very long time since he had allowed any such liberty to anyone.

Had he been a little less ale addled he probably would have foreseen what happened next but as it was all he was really capable of was jerking in complete surprise when her free hand boldly groped at his crotch. Again he was paused, his befuddled brain trying to reason what was happening even as his body reacted quite on its own. There was nothing subtle about her as she took the sudden hardening under her palm as an endorsement of her action, grasping at him best as she could through his breeches and even as years of chaste observance to a vow long ago made came roaring out of the tangled depths of Sebastian’s mind he could not prevent the gasp of pleasure her questing, sliding fingers provoked. It was that sound which began to break him of it and he pulled his mouth from hers, regarding her a moment in shock and even embarrassment. Just as he managed to latch onto her raiding appendage, he saw her expression change, from one of mild irritation to one of surprise. But he never saw what it was that widened her eye because suddenly everything exploded into an array of colors with a solid noise that reminded him vaguely of the way it sounded when well placed arrow landed hard into a wooden shield echoing in his ears. ‘No,’ he thought, ‘that’s not right. It’s inside my head, not my ears.’ But before he could make sense of it, a black rushed to greet him and he fell back to the floor like a lifeless doll.

* * *

Aveline sat watching Sebastian, amazed at the sudden change in the man. He had spent the better part of an hour sitting listening to the bard as she sang and joked with the men and women in the alehall, drinking and brooding and responding when directly spoken to only in monosyllables. At some point though he must have hit a point in his inebriation that turned a key because suddenly he had stood and left them to stand closer to the minstrel, easily joining in the rowdiness. He seemed quite at home in the table-thumping laughter that surrounded her and she fast found that he was the one in the crowd to please because in a mass of sailors determinedly spending sovereign like it was their last day on this side of the Void he was a standout. It was obvious that those around him knew he wasn’t one of them but so long as he was buying drinks and paying the singer to keep them entertained they didn’t seem to mind at all. He even had a fairly attractive woman hanging on his arm, which completely surprised Aveline but didn’t seem a shock to Baldovin who sat watching quietly, no longer doing more than nursing his own drink.  At least not until the woman quite boldly kissed the prince and he seemed too far into his cups to object. Aveline turned a look at Baldovin that plainly stated if he didn’t do something she would but neither of them had the chance.

Without so much as a raised voice to come as warning a man further down the table stood, walking up behind the prince and hitting him soundly upside the head with one of the heavy wood and steel tankards. Having had no clue of the impending attack Sebastian went down like a wet rag and the man following up his blow with a couple kicks as the crowd at first fell silent and then began laughing and cheering. Baldovin and Aveline both were on their feet, already pulling their steel from sheaths, when the woman who had been on Sebastian’s arm let loose with a wail that could pierce stone and went after the man, giving them their only clue to the man’s motives when, as she struck him she started berating him as a man and husband. He promptly struck her down hard, knocking her headlong into one of the tables and scattering food and drink in every direction. That silenced a fair portion of the cheering because those at the table were of a different ship than those belonging to the woman and what it would seem was her mate. Always primed and ready for a fight, those at the table launched themselves at the man and soon _his_ mates were joining the circus.

Isabela, always faster on her feet than most, made it to Sebastian’s side first and standing over him, daggers drawn, screamed and cursed, slashing at anyone that got too close. Baldovin waded into the melee literally throwing anyone that landed before him in every direction as he sought to clear a path. Aveline, cursing soundly and with a creativity that would have shocked most people who knew her, grabbed at Sebastian’s feet, trying to drag him out from the middle of the seething mass of fists and knives while still hanging onto her longsword. It wasn’t until she heard Klaton call her that she noticed the man standing over her, chair in hand and then it was too late to do more than hold her arm over her to try and deflect as much of the blow as possible.

The impact sent her sword flying and knocked her flat, and even through the dull roar that now permeated her head she knew her arm was broken because she had felt the bone give. Her attacker didn’t stop there, striking her with the chair again, this time across her back as she tried to regain the equilibrium he had struck from her and again she was sure he had broken bone. As addled as she was she wasn’t so befuddled that she couldn’t curse Mald for having solidly built furniture and it didn’t keep her from seeing her attacker go down like a limp rag, a nasty looking stiletto poking out from one eye. Looking up she saw a face she recognized and did not expect – Master Fantin’s quiet companion Julyan. He was saying something but she couldn’t quite make it out, the roaring in her head was too loud and after a moment of trying to make sense of what was happening her brain finally just decided enough was enough. She watched as a darkness started invading her vision from the edges, spreading with a will and intent until finally everything went dark.

“Aveline!” Isabela slashed viciously at the back of a man who came too close, keenly aware that the both the man and woman lying behind her could no longer defend themselves and both had reputations that would be shaken by this. She knew Klaton was behind her, standing guard to her back as well as their prone figures. When Isabela didn’t answer, she shot a look at the Crow that had suddenly appeared in the melee. “We need to be gone from here Crow.”

“Agreed,” Julyan hissed, throwing the heel of his palm at the nose of a would-be attacker and watching distractedly as the man went down, holding his face, blood seeping from between his fingers.

Baldovin used the hilt of his sword to bash one odoriferous man upside the head, knocking him out of his way. Without comment he slung Sebastian over his shoulder and watched as Klaton did the same with Aveline. It was then that Mald made his appearance, wielding what could only be called a cudgel and a very large one at that. Those that saw his approach wisely ducked out of the way, those that didn’t went down hard. Seeing him coming like a stampeding bull, Julyan swung around, prepared to kill the much larger man if necessary but Isabela stopped him, throwing an arm up to stop him pulling a dagger from his vambrace.

“The guard will be coming,” Mald snapped, regarding Julyan down the length of his nose a moment as he assessed a man he did not know.

“We can’t be arrested here!” Baldovin asserted as he used his sword to bat a bowl out of the air before it struck him.

“Mald is there another way out?” Isabela shouted.

“Aye,” Mald replied after kicking the feet from under a somewhat wild-eyed woman who was apparently drunk enough to think she could take on the mountain of a man. “The door in the back leads to a store. Through it there is a door that leads to our home on the other side and that will lead you to the street behind us. Get while the getting is good, captain!”

None of them needed to be told twice, least of all Isabela.

* * *

Isabela stared out the window at the dark street Julyan had disappeared down after insisting that the rest of them wait inside Mald’s home. Her former crewman’s wife, who had apparently been trapped in the storeroom when the fight broke out and who had nearly fainted with fright when Julyan kicked open the locked door between the store and her home, was gently washing blood from Sebastian’s head as Baldovin wrapped cloth around Aveline’s arm, tourniqueting it to slow the bleeding.

“Can we trust him?” Klaton, who was standing to her side watching the same street, listening to the same muted din that echoed along it.

“I don’t see that we have a choice.”

“We are not far from the Siren’s Call,” Klaton pointed out.

“Yes but those two need a healer, preferably a good one. The ship doesn’t have one of those,” Isabela sighed. “I suspect Julyan is arranging for one.” When Klaton fell silent, Isabela shot him a sideways glance, fully aware that he was still not happy with her for slapping him down about his behavior concerning Fantin. The easiness with which they had treated one another through this evening was proof that he was willing to put it behind them if she was and indeed she was. They were far too good a team to let something ruin it. “I suspect that his presence is Fantin’s doing and as little as I trust _him_ I _do_ trust him to always do what is in his own best interest. And seeing us all safely away from this adventure is, so Julyan will do whatever is necessary – count on that.”

 “He’s back,” Klaton sighed, tipping his chin at the window as he did. “And he’s brought friends.”

Isabela sighed and nodded as she spotted several men following Julyan down the narrow street. Shooting a hard look to Klaton to see that he understood he was to do as he was told without argument or dissent for now, Isabela pulled the door open as they arrived. Julyan wasted no time, barking orders at the men with him in a language she did not recognize before looking at Baldovin sharply.

“I have made arrangements,” he told the guard in a clipped tone, “A healer will be brought but not here. We have to take you where the healer will be safe.”

“Then this healer is a mage?” Baldovin asked promptly, the implications of his statement not escaping him.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Baldovin responded, standing as he did. “I will trust them to be of a certain caliber since I’m sure your ass is on the line just like mine. But explain to me, how are we to move these two without being seen?”

“Leave that to me,” Julyan sighed, holding a hand up to silence the protest he saw on Isabela’s lips. “I would appreciate your cooperation but frankly it isn’t required.” He then held a vial up to Baldovin, who eyed it warily. “Drink this. It will make you sleep for a short while and when you wake you will be someplace safe, not only for them,” he tipped his head to indicate the two wounded, “But also for our healer. With any luck, you will return to your lives without fuss.”

“Not bloody likely!” Isabela puffed, feathers ruffling like an irate rooster. “What one earth makes you think I’ll trust you Crow?”

“I am not Fantin.” Julyan replied in a deceptively light tone and that made Isabela’s head rock back.

“I don’t think that’s the point,” Klaton fired but Julyan simply shrugged.

“It is _exactly_ the point.”

Isabela met his eye, her own narrowed suspiciously as she regarded him. Just what was it he thought he knew? Julyan accepted her scrutiny for a few moments before pointing at Aveline.

“She needs the healer worse than the prince,” he warned, “And you are wasting time she doesn’t have.”

Isabela looked at the guard captain, her pallor worse by the minute, her bleeding only slowed by the tourniquet and sighed heavily before snatching the vial out of Julyan’s hand.

“She better live Crow,” she hissed as she unstoppered it, “We all better or I swear I will find a way back to make you pay.”

Before Klaton could protest she had thrown the draught back like it was the best whiskey the house had to offer and within moments she was staggering. Klaton caught her as he knees buckled and lowered her gently to the floor. Baldovin sighed, shaking his head at Julyan as he drank his own vial, making a face at the bitter flavor and sitting to wait its affects. When Julyan held one out to Klaton he fired a look that would burn most men to the core but Julyan simply smile.

“I promise you,” he assured him, his tone mildly mocking. “I will see you all safely through this.”

“You’d better,” was all Klaton said before following the rest of them to the Fade.

Julyan sighed, thankful that violence hadn’t been necessary. As it was Mald’s wife was watching this whole affair with wide eyes. Without being told the men with him began carrying the unconscious all out to a carriage that had pulled to the door as Klaton succumbed and he turned his attention to her. She was not deaf he saw, she had heard what Isabela had said and knew that the men in her home were trained killers and she looked at Julyan with fear that he found that regrettable.

“You will tell your husband that he has the thanks of the Crows,” he stated gently, “And we are in his debt. This is not something we take lightly.” He reached into a bag that had been dropped next to him and pulled out square of cloth that he unfolded with a flick of his wrist. It was decorated ornately in a blackwork style she did not recognize, depicting a seal she did not know. “Tell him to hang this in his establishment and he will have our protection.” When she did nothing Julyan reached out and wrapped her hand around one corner of the banner. “You have nothing to fear, m’lady. We were never here and you never saw anything.”

With that he followed his men out of the house, pulling the door gently closed behind him.

* * *

Julyan stood on the deck, watching as Ostwick fell behind them as the Cumberland Wake followed the morning tide away from her. From this distance Ostwick looked rather charming, the constant winds from the sea keeping the air clear of smoke and the morning sun sparkling off the palisades of the Keep. Sighing he wondered just exactly what Fantin was getting him into and wondered just how much he was going to dislike it. In truth the only place Fantin had ever sent him that he had really enjoyed was Minrathous and even that was only because he found the mages there to be a refreshing challenge. On the whole Minrathous wasn’t much better than most other large cities – smelly, dirty and in some sections downright deadly. Julyan rather preferred solitude and silence so the constant noise and light at all hours that was distinctly Minrathous had tested him all those years.

Breathing deep of the sea air to clear the memory, he absently slid his hands into the pockets sewn inside the cloak he wore. When his fingers brushed against something, he pulled it out, looking at the strip of cloth in his hand, the same one he had blindfolded Aveline with the night before. Studying the dark golden yellow color of the cloth a moment he closed his hand over it and again looked back at the Ostwick Keep, growing smaller by the moment.

 


	55. Chapter 55

The silence that fell behind Fenris’s tale was a deep one, clinging with cloying satisfaction to everyone in the room like heavy wet wool. Hawke had turned her back on him, standing at the windows and studying whatever it was she could see in the darkness beyond the glass. Vistana sat watching Fenris as he stared at some point well beyond the walls of the Gallows that only he could see. The strain of it showed on his face, even with how notoriously well-aged elves were he suddenly looked… old. Aged well beyond his years and Vistana supposed that this face was probably the truth of it, that Fenris had seen and done so very many things he was now not proud of that this was a small glimpse at his soul. It did not escape her that these two people, neither of whom had any more love for her than she had for them, had allowed her to be witness to something that had repercussions none could foresee, not just concerning the Chant although that was going to be bad enough, but also between the two of them.

This intimacy made Vistana unaccountably uncomfortable and she had the sudden desire to be gone from it. Before she could stage a strategic retreat from the scene before her though, something had to be said. When she knelt next to Fenris he did not seem to notice and when she laid a light hand to his shoulder, the lyrium beneath his skin which had flared dully to life when he’d sat heavily on the floor flared brightly for just a moment before he turned to look at her. He looked tired.

“Fenris,” Vistana murmured gently, “Tell me, is the Chant safe?”

Fenris didn’t speak, indeed his expression changed very little, he simply nodded.

“I do not claim to understand it and it will earn me no love from the Knight-Captains to do this, but I will keep your secret. But only until Ser Cullen returns.” She paused to sigh, watching Hawke out of the corner of her eye where she stood, looking over her shoulder at the two on the floor and knowing that even her soft tone would have carried to her. “If I have your word that you will confess to him and return the Chant, then I am satisfied and I will back you both when that time comes. But understand that I have very little influence where the Templars are concerned.”

Fenris regarded her a moment in silence studying the older woman’s face, the lines time and experience had etched into what had once been a handsome countenance. Even though he still could find little room for trust for mages in general and no reason to love this one in particular, he could see that for all her odd mannerisms and seeming social ineptness she was at the heart of it honorable when it suited her and her purpose. He was in no position to ask for more.

“You’re word carries more sway in the Knight-Commander’s office than you claim,” he finally responded, his voice weighted with both gratitude and sadness. “And you know it.”

“Maybe so,” Vistana replied after studying the astute elf for several long moments. She had not had much dealing with him, most of what she knew had come to her through Varania but she was still surprised that he apparently saw more than she’d given credit from his vantage at Hawke’s back. “But my position here always has been and always will be precarious Fenris. I can only afford to stick my neck out so much and only every so often and hope to keep Ser Cullen’s good graces. He will _always_ hold the real power of the Gallows in his hands.”

Fenris nodded, understanding that was the truth of the situation inside the Circles of Magi so long as the mages suffered to allow it. But their sufferance extended only so far as the rebellion amply proved. Their active resistance had shown that both the Church and her Templars were not so powerful as they had once arrogantly assumed. Fenris knew that Cullen understood this only too well and through some things Cullen had said knew that it was something that had been forged and tested in this contemplative Templar despite experience and the environment of abuse that he had been thrust into. Fenris knew no details but he understood that Cullen’s road to this day had been no easier than had Vistana’s. It was in this silent, pensive moment between them, that Fenris found it within himself to respect this mage.

Vistana sighed, gently squeezing the shoulder under her hand before standing and regarding Hawke’s profile a moment. Something inside her hoped these two would find a way past this and whatever its consequences held for them both, hoped that something would restore bond that had obviously existed between Fenris and the Tal Vashoth man and not only because these people were all needed by the cause they had thrust upon the people of Kirkwall, but because she found herself feeling sorry for them all. Without further comment she made her way out of the apartment, nodding to her Templar as he stepped away from the far wall and fell in step with her. She wondered idly if he had heard anything from his vantage in the hallway. Probably but not much more than raised voices through the heavy door and Vistana thanked the magisters for their preference for thick walls. Let him think it a simple lover’s quarrel because in a way that was exactly what it was.

Hawke watched her departure until the door closed, then turned back to the window. In the reflection cast by the glass she could see Fenris watch after her a few moments more before tightening his arms and hugging his knees closer to his chest. His profile was indistinct, made fuzzy by some imperfection in the glass but she didn’t need to see it to know he would remain there without apology.  This situation had brought out something in him that she was loath to witness and had hoped was left in the past but that she now realized was not something he would ever be able to fully overcome – slavery was part of who he was, an instinct he might never be rid of- at least not with people who mattered to him because in reality he knew no other way.

Sighing she realized this situation was up to her – _she_ had to be the one to resolve it, regardless of how she just wanted to run from the implications of what he had done, regardless of how angry it made her on so very many levels. Deciding not to over-think it and certainly not go with her first instinct which was to heap her ire on his head the way he seemed to expect and which he’d already had a healthy dose of from Hassrath, she turned and stepped up to the back of a couch that separated them. Laying her hands on the back she took a deep breath, still not sure what she was going to say.

“Fenris….”

She stopped when she saw the sudden tension along his back and shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as if preparing for another blow. It made her hands tighten along the fabric of the couch, an unreasoning annoyance with him singing through her until his words came back to her. He was right – she had struck him in anger and as sorry as she still felt for it she now felt a shame that burned just as bright as any breath of displeasure with him ever had. Her chest tightened until she had to struggle to breathe and without a thought to it she went to him, kneeling next to him. She could see the desire to flinch in his face as he refused to look at her, staring at something only he could see.

“Fenris?”

This time her voice was soft, delicate in the silence between them but he didn’t move. Even with the swollen bruising that marred the side of him she was studying she could see his color rise. He didn’t know his way out of this she realized, didn’t know how to ask for or even expect forgiveness here. Reaching out to cup both cheeks between her hands, her eyes closing before his face was turned to her because the thought that he wouldn’t meet her eye even now hurt too much, she opened a well guarded door inside her to allow the Fade in. Raw magic sang along every nerve inside her, a pleasant feeling she instinctively restrained and focused as it reached her hands, and even through her closed lids she could see Fenris flare bright. It was over in a beat of their hearts, the magic fading as she pressed closed the door again, its job done but the static smell of it lingering in the air between them.

When she opened her eyes she first saw that his lyrium, which had been burning dully for some time now, was still bright though far more restrained than it would have been when her healing magic had run through them.  She had felt the way they had reacted, the way they pulled and distributed what she had offered, how they had indeed lent their support to the endeavor. It was a never ending surprise to her when she saw how his tattoos reacted to even innocuous magic which was why she wasn’t entirely surprised when she saw his hands pressed flat to the floor, no longer holding his legs like they were the only shield he had. Nor the stunned cast to his guarded look as he took in what she had just done. It was not what he had expected and she was unaccountably pleased by that as she scooted herself into his lap, curling herself against him before drawing him down until their lips brushed softly. He had automatically accommodated her, one leg flattening as the other remained bent, his arms folding around her and tightening unconsciously as she pulled back to look at him, her thumb tracing along his now healed cheekbone.

“I’m sorry Fenris.”

He blinked, studying her carefully before apparently deciding it didn’t matter and tightening his grip on her. He buried his face in her hair and stayed there, his breath ragged as he fought to incorporate what had just happened. He was hiding she knew but allowed him to do it for a while, until she felt wetness caressing down her neck. Pushing him back and catching his chin when he would have looked away, she took a moment to study the tears before pressing her lips to his, this time with more fervency and he gave way, allowing her whatever liberty she wished.

As she deepened the kiss she quickly decided that she wanted every liberty she could take and set about exploring as though he was not as familiar to her as the back of her own hand. Fenris was a jealous lover, one who insisted on control even while allowing her to be aggressive. To have him in her hands so completely as this fired her blood even if she understood its roots to be something abhorrent to her. She was deliberately gentle as she pulled her lips from his and brushed them slowly along his jaw then down his neck only to follow the lyrium pathways back up, eyes closed against their brightness under his skin. That they still burned at all told her he was still emotionally tender and when she reached his chin she pulled back to look at him. His eyes were a familiar green but as passionate as they were, they looked back at her with an uncertainty she had not seen since they had gazed into hers after their first time. He was scared she realized; something had shaken him as deeply as that experience had.

Without losing his eye she hooked her fingers under the bottom of his tunic and pulled it slowly up, giving him time to realize her intent and allow her to pull it over his head. Tossing it to the side she laid her hands on his shoulders and lightly pushed until he fell back against the wood. Quickly straddling him she paused to let her eyes take in the length and breadth of what she had exposed, to wander the crisp lines of glowing silvery blue that framed a bare stomach that nature had decorated with softer planes and ridges of muscle until they came together across his chest. She studied the gentle curves and lines of the tattoo that ran the length of his breastbone up to between his collarbones, the one she knew from Danarius’s ramblings was the heart of what had been done to him, the one whose perfection had to be without question and the one without which this man stretched before her would not survive. Although she understood its meaning, far more than she knew he did, to her that one bit of this tapestry of light _was_ Fenris and she knew its every twist and angle by heart.

Without thought she bent over and pressed her lips to its center, feeling his heartbeat under them as he took in what she was doing. When his hand landed lightly in her hair, silently encouraging her, she lingered there taking in the taste of his skin, its smoothness against her lips, the confused scent of fear and desire that wafted across it, echoed in the light emanating from under it. It was a softly erotic moment that she knew would live with her forever deep inside, no matter what the future might bring. She was loath to end it but knew that she must or it would lose its meaning and again she set out to explore. Ignoring the passages of light she followed the natural contours of his chest now, marveling at the juxtaposition of smooth skin made soft by a light covering of downy hairs so fine that you would never know they were there unless you touched them and the hard muscle that they stretched across.

When her lips brushed against the edge of a nipple, one she had been taking her time reaching, he twitched unconsciously and she knew without hearing it that the steady beat of his heart had just sped up. She smiled because this was the first real indication he’d given of her effect and she decided to make the most of it. Tracing around the edges with her tongue without really touching the hard pebbled surface itself, she felt the hand that until now had gently messaged at the nape of her neck fall completely still and she knew that she had his undivided attention, that every ounce of him was focused on this one small part of his body in expectation.

She refused to disappoint.

Flicking her tongue she brushed it lightly past its peak and without giving him time to register the soft blow latched on with her teeth, biting down with exactly the force she knew he liked. The hand in the hair that grew along the back of her neck tightened and his sharp intake of breath hissed past teeth that had clenched at the small but not unexpected nor unwelcomed pain she had just inflicted. Apologizing to the flesh she had just abused with a soft tongue, she sucked gently as she felt the muscles beneath her mouth spasm with a pleasure he echoed in a small breathy groan. That sound was enough to drive her from her target and levering herself over him she claimed his mouth with a passion that took her own breath away. She wasn’t gentle now and neither was he as he followed her lead.

It wasn’t until his hands began roaming along her back that she abruptly broke off the kiss. Hovering just out of his reach she studied him as he gazed back at her. His face was intent, his eyes hooded with the desire he felt and rimmed with something she couldn’t ever remember seeing in him before – pleading. His own nature was beginning to assert itself and she knew he wanted to take control but didn’t feel it was his place. He wanted her permission. Well she wasn’t inclined to give it. If he wanted rule he would have to _take_ it.

Smiling, well aware there was a feral quality to it, she left him to consider his place in this as she again followed the contours of his body with her hands and mouth. Gooseflesh sprang up everywhere her tongue grazed and she enjoyed every inch she found spread bare before her. Every sound he made fired along her nerves, lighting her blood with a passion she knew echoed his own. When she found her continued explorations thwarted by the trousers he wore she wasted no time plucking the buttons loose, freeing him to stand gently curved by the captivity he’d suffered. She paused to study him, so close she knew he could feel her breath and well aware that he was watching her attentively. After a moment she pulled away, going to her knees and tugging at his trousers until she had freed him of them. Again she paused to consider what she had uncovered - the lightly haired legs, the gentle curve of his hip that was crowned by the muscles of his lower abdomen and on one side marred by a scar that was far fainter than it had any right to be, the glow of his tattoos as they spilled down his side and across the hips before spreading to encase his thighs and calves. Only as they reached his ankles did they thin out to straight lines that shot across his feet and down his toes. Though she knew every inch of him with intimate certainty rarely was she given the latitude to just… look at him this way and she made the most of it, letting her eyes roam where they pleased until finally they met his. He had pulled himself up onto his elbows to watch her, anticipating what she was sure he thought was next. Swallowing hard because Maker but he was so beautiful to her in that brief moment, she almost hated to disappoint him but she had other ideas.

Leaning forward she again claimed his mouth with every ounce of her ardent arousal, letting that tell him just how the mere sight of him was affecting her while she gently pushed until he was again laid stretched along his back. While he was thus distracted she stretched herself alongside him and lightly ran her fingers along the arm between them, the one whose hand had landed on his chest when he had given up his ascendant view. Taking his wrist in her hand she began sliding his hand down his chest, further still down his stomach. It was not until its slow progression reached his lower abdomen that he realized what she was doing and he pulled away from her kiss and looked at her questioningly. She smiled down at him, letting it flavor the intensity she knew was in her face before pressing her lips lightly to the end of his nose.

“I want to watch,” she breathed as she looked him boldly in the eye, “I want to see what it is you do.”

He blinked at her and she could see that as aroused as he was this was not something he particularly wanted to do. She suspected she had brushed against something from his past but refused to back down now, not unless he forced the issue. He didn’t, instead he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, allowing her hand to now guide him to where he wrapped his fingers around himself.  Before he could start she slipped her hand over his, pushing his fingers apart so that hers could creep between them. He gasped and twitched in surprise, his eyes popping open to look up at her. Again she brashly met his eye but this time stayed silent, letting her look tell him that she would be with him every step of the way. She didn’t know if he understood but he swallowed again and without looking away from her began leading her hand in a dance along the swollen length of himself.

She was the one that finally broke eye contact, turning to do just what she had told him she would – watch. It wasn’t long before the heady combination of things finally got the best of him and he began breathing hard, arching up off the floor and sweet Andraste making that rumbling sound deep inside his chest. Oh he was a sight, one that Hawke had to admit made her ache with want. She waited, watching closely until she judged him close to completion before pulling her hand away and grasping at his wrist. “Stop!” she ordered as she tugged at his hand. When he looked to have not heard she repeated herself with more force. His eyes snapped open along with his fingers and she pulled his hand away as he desperately sought to understand what had just happened, his brands flaring brighter for just a split second. His breath exploded from him, punctuated by an unconscious whine and she leaned in to catch his earlobe between her teeth. Biting down with just enough force to give him something else to focus on, she then sucked at it gently and flicked at it with her tongue while she listened to his breathing slow.

She knew he had regained some control when he suddenly turned and whispered, “Why?” There were several different things he could have meant but her answer to them all tonight was the same. Pulling back so that her face hovered over his she looked him in the eye and replied lightly, “Because I said so.”  She watched as his eyes darkened and dilated, signaling that he found her answer both arousing and frustrating in equal measure. But not frustrating enough that he would challenge her it seemed and she suddenly moved, using the speed and the knowledge of her body that rogue training had given her to strip off her own loose breaches and again straddle his stomach. Reaching out to snag his wrists none to gently she leaned forward, pressing them to the floor on either side of his head and swooping in to claim his mouth. Contrary to her body language the kiss itself was tender, soft and he melted right into it, eagerly following her lead. She took her time with it, amusing herself with nipping at his tongue and catching his lower lip between her teeth until she was sure he had himself in hand.

Pulling away she sat up, catching her shirt as she did and pulling it slowly over her head. Tossing it to the side, she laid her hands on her thighs and cocked her head at him, watching as his eyes followed her contours with all the precision hers had his. When his gaze finally made its way back to hers she smiled and slid herself back until she could feel him pressed against her backside. He hissed, showing that he was still sensitive from what he had done to himself but when she made no other moves he seemed to relax again. At least until she let her hands slide up her thighs, past her stomach until they were each cupping a breast anyway. She watched his eyes follow her, saw the concentration as he attended to what her fingers began doing and how her nipples pebbled under them. She let her eyes close and her head fall back for a moment, allowing herself to find that tight, tingling tension deep inside her gut. This was not something she had ever done before – no one had ever asked it of her just as she had never asked it of him. But all was fair and she suspected he would have a hard time watching this without wanting to touch. She wondered just how long he would simply strain at the chains of servitude he had shackled himself with this night?

When she looked back down at him she saw that she had been right, his hands were still where she left them, on either side of his head against the floor but they were fisted now as she teased at herself for his enjoyment. When one of her hands slid away, following a slow path down, they clenched harder still. Just when her spread fingers encountered the thatch of hair that crowned her secrets she stopped and catching his eye whispered, “I watched you; do you want to watch me?” He didn’t answer for a moment, just gazed at her before nodding. “Are you sure?” His eyes narrowed just slightly before he nodded again and she realized that he had caught up with her. This game would be ending soon and she wondered how.

Letting her head fall back again she slid her hand down to cup herself before slipping one finger between her outer lips and tracing back up along the inner ones she found what she was looking for. She had just enough presence of mind to be just a little amazed at how wet she was before her finger grazed past her already swollen nub and a shot of pleasure destroyed any real chance at coherent thought. Much like him it didn’t take long, she was already far too aroused for something slow and she quickly became a creature of pure sensation, her hips rocking in counterpoint to her own rhythm. She had been right, Fenris did find himself incapable of just watching but she was also completely unable to protest when he bent his knees behind her and sat up, sandwiching her in between. Catching her by the nape of her neck when what had happened finally dawned, he looked fiercely into her eyes and whispered huskily, “Don’t stop.” Nodding she did as she was told, not even noticing how his breath hitched and hissed as her rocking hips pressed her backside against him, she was trapped by the look in his eye. He wasn’t interested in what she was doing anymore - he was watching her face as what she was doing to herself registered there. The closer she came the harder she rocked but her face, it became almost perfectly still, frozen in a look of frantic concentration as she sought to forge those last few steps to the edge.

That was when Fenris struck. Snagging her under the arms he lifted her off him and left her there as he rolled away. Blinking and unsure just what was going on she wasn’t prepared when he came to his knees and pushed her not only back but also over onto her stomach. Before she had time to orient herself to that, she found him laying on her, trapping her with his weight as he growled, “You think to tease? I’ll show you what to do with a tease!” His weight suddenly disappeared but his strong hands hooked her hips in a tight grip and lifted, pulling her backside up while her cheek skidded across the floor. Without pause, he oriented himself and slammed into her hard.

The sound of his flesh smacking into hers wasn’t the only thing that echoed through the room. Fenris made a strangled sound behind her as she instinctively tightened up around him and she groaned at how this position just felt so much different than what she was used to. It only took a moment for him to recover himself and take up a hard, fast tempo, the hands gripping her hips yanking her back to meet each of his forward thrusts. For her it didn’t take long, she was already taught as a bowstring inside and burying her face into her hands she moaned into the wooden floor. He didn’t allow how she pulsated around him to throw him off, didn’t allow it to slow him down any more so than he allowed the sight of her like this to. It brought back memories, ones he would have preferred to push away but found himself incapable of it. He was getting close enough that everything in the entire world was centered deep in his gut where an angry tension was building beyond endurance, including the knowledge that this was something _he_ was doing, not something being done _to_ him. When finally it snapped like an overworked piece of twine his head threw back, eyes closed and mouth slack at the pure pleasure of it. He didn’t notice his own brands flaring bright, burning back the shadows in the room and frankly could have cared less. This entire situation had been beyond him so their participation was not totally unexpected, their burning not entirely unwelcome.

Hawke waited patiently as he finished, his hands reflexively squeezing at her hips until she knew she would have bruises. When he finally fell forward, one hand planted next to her face and hanging over her she sighed because she could see now that his lyrium had gone dark.

“You…” Fenris gasped as he tried to catch his breath, “You….”

“Bitch?” she supplied lightly and wasn’t entirely surprised when he didn’t immediately respond.

“Yes.”

She chuckled as she straightened her arms to pull her cheek off the floor and press her back up against him. The pause to consider before his throaty agreement told her that though he was still angry it was as spent as he was and wouldn’t stand for long. Reaching up she cupped his cheek to make him look at her before whispering, “I love you too.” He regarded her for a long time, his face morphing through so many things she couldn’t keep up before kissing her with almost chaste gentleness but that didn’t last for long either. Pulling himself back on his haunches, he brought her up with him, arms wrapped firmly around her, one hand lying possessively on her abdomen, the other snaked around her and up her neck where it spread out to hold her jaw turned to him while he drank deeply what he wanted.

He just couldn’t stay angry at her when she looked at him like that.

* * *

Fenris found himself awake, having no more than drowsed during the night. After what had happened - with Hassrath, with Truss, with Vistana, with Varania, with… Hawke - sleep eluded him except superficially. It was Hawke that loomed largest in his mind at the moment as he watched the gentle shift from dark to light taking place outside the window. She was curled against him exactly as she had been since he had carried her from the sittingroom and crawled in the bed beside her – her head on his shoulder, her hand centered on his chest. What had happened wasn’t disrupting her sleep and in a small way he envied her that. Glancing down at her he studied the peace on her face, a peace that made her seem innocent, almost childlike. He wondered if he looked similar and couldn’t imagine it in himself but seeing it in her made something deep inside him fierce and protective. Without thinking he pressed his lips to her forehead and nearly regretted it when she shifted, stretching and pressing closer as her eyes slitted open. When she looked up at him and found him looking back she smiled drowsily.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he reached out to run his fingers lightly along her jaw. “It was not my intention to disturb you.”

“It’s fine,” she returned sleepily, turning her face into his hand and nuzzling at the palm. “Feel free to disturb me as often as you like.”

Fenris couldn’t help the gentle smile that broke through his melancholy as he watched her. She could be so brazen when it suited her and he often found it very nearly irresistible when she was. But right now it just made him want to wrap her in his arms and never turn her loose. He pressed his lips to her forehead again and tightened his grip on her before sighing lightly.

It was that sigh, one so softly delivered that had the room not been silent she would have missed it that alerted the sleepy Hawke that something wasn’t necessarily wrong, but also wasn’t entirely right either. There were so very many things that could be on his mind at the moment that she paused, deciding to give him a chance to bring it to her as opposed to her asking for it which was how things usually went. Turning her face into his neck and she just took in the scent of him and they remained like that for some time, enough that Hawke found herself drowsing when he finally spoke.

“Hawke I must know something.”

“Hmmmm?” she breathed, bracing herself even as she nuzzled under his jaw.

“Earlier...” he began and paused, trying to decide how to say it and discovering it was so much easier in his head. “When you….” He cursed under his breath and decided to just say it even if it came out blunt. “You spent a lot of time just _looking_ at me. I know you find me handsome, you’ve said so and I might not see it but I accept that you think it is so. I can even accept that others can find these,” he held up his hand and glared at the lyrium that now lay dormant under his skin, “Appealing to look at. But you… you wanted to watch while I… I don’t…”

“Fenris,” Hawke shushed him as she found an elbow so she could look at him. He wasn’t quite willing to meet her eye though and his color was quite high. She studied him a moment and decided to let him get away with avoidance this time. “Yes, I did spend time looking at you. You don’t usually allow me to just… I don’t know… enjoy the view? But I _like_ looking at you and sometimes it doesn’t matter where or what you’re doing because you’re right, I do find everything about you physically appealing. And sometimes I will admit whatever it is you are doing reminds me of things you do when we are together.” That got his attention and she paused as his eyes found her, studying her like he was trying to decide the truth of her words. “Is it not the same for you?”

“Yes,” he finally admitted and she smiled gently.

“That is actually nice to know.”

He was quiet for a moment before nodding his agreement.

“And as for the rest,” she sighed, “Did you not enjoy watching me?”

He looked away again, his color deepening further. This time Hawke sensed this was important and she reached up and turned him back to her and knew she was right when she saw how his eyes were guarded. What was this that she had brushed against without meaning to? That it was sexual gave her a clue but…. In the journals he’d written Danarius had been downright pornographic in his observations and descriptions of Fenris and the things that were done. Enough so that when she had been reading them to him she had skipped those parts – by a kind of mutual agreement once he understood what it was. Unless it was something oblique she didn’t think it was him and that left one other person.

“What did she do?” Hawke whispered fiercely as a bright bolt of anger shot through her. When he pulled his chin free from her and tried to sit up, she was faster because she had been half prepared for this reaction at some point. Throwing a leg over him she was straddling him, hands planted on his shoulders before he had a chance to react and she almost regretted it when she saw the stubborn set to his jaw. Sighing she hung her head a moment, wrestling with herself and the unreasoning anger that Hadriana raised in her. As appalling as what Danarius had done with him was, it was at least honest. Hadriana had raised the short hairs on Hawke just walking past and she could only imagine anything she’d done to be designed to inflict shame and defamation. When she had herself in hand she looked back at him, a little surprised at how he was studying her. “You never answered me,” she whispered, her voice soft. “Did you not enjoy watching me?”

The change of tact slowed him up but he just looked at her and she knew she was going to have to work for the answer even though it was his question to begin with. Leaning over she pressed her lips to the cord of his neck. His hands landed on her biceps as she’d bent over but made no move to stop her, they just gripped firmly like he hadn’t made up his mind yet. She took that as a good sign and traced her lips and tongue along a slow path that eventually led her to that place where his neck, jaw and ear all met together. Nipping at his earlobe she purred, “Well?”

Maybe it was what she was doing, maybe it was that now she wasn’t actually looking at him, maybe even a combination of the both but this time he answered her, hoarsely whispering, “Yes.”

She smiled to herself and continued what she was doing, running the tip of her nose along the outer edge of his ear. He sighed roughly, one hand sliding into her hair but he didn’t do anything else so she murmured, “That’s your answer Fenris, yes I wanted to watch.” Pausing to let that sink in a little she ran the tip of her tongue along the folds inside his ear. “I even enjoyed it, especially the part about helping you. That was indescribably erotic, and so was seeing how you reacted once you started….”

“That,” he growled, the hand in her hair tightening its grip but not pulling her away, “Was only because what you did made it… different.”

“Different?” she hummed, her voice deliberately vague, like she was more interested in what she was doing. He was quiet for a time and she began to think she would get no more when finally he spoke.

“Your hand…” he started and stopped but after a moment forged ahead. “Your fingers between mine, like you wanted to _learn_ … it made it _feel_ different than just….”

“Than just being told to do it?” she finished for him gently as it dawned on her what was going on, “Even when you didn’t want to?” When he nodded she pulled away until she was hovering over him. His color was still high but this time he met her eye boldly and she looked sadly down at him. “And she watched you?” He nodded again, the movement not smooth but instead jerky. “Oh Fenris,” she whispered, “I never meant for you to feel you had no choice. You always have the choice to say no to me and I would never hold it against you – ever!”

She watched as he took that in, his nostrils flaring briefly as he thought it through.

“But you wanted me to….”

“Not if it bothered you _that_ deeply,” she interrupted fiercely. “I love you Fenris and that is reason enough to never want to deliberately hurt you….”

She got no further, the hand in her hair pushed her the rest of the way to him and he kissed her hard. She didn’t resist him, just melted into him and what he was doing and let him have his way. She suspected actually hearing that had been too much for him to take in all at once. Fenris might know he was free to choose but there was a world of difference between what went on in your head and what your heart understood as truth. She would have felt guilty for stopping him the way she had if Fenris weren’t as adept at distracting her as she was him. He rolled over, trapping her under him and catching her hands in his, their fingers tangled as he pulled them over her head. Trailing his lips along her jaw, he nuzzled at her neck, gently nipping at the sensitive skin just behind her ear. Her gasp was his reward and it made him feel bold.

“You liked looking?” he whispered into her ear.

“Yes,” she breathed without thought.

“And you liked what you saw?” When she nodded wordlessly at the roughly sensual tone in his voice he admitted, “I liked what I saw as well. You were so…” he paused as he struggled for a word before finally settling on, “Wanton. You didn’t care that I was there… no, that’s not right, you _did_ care. You _wanted_ me to see it, every bit of it.”

“Because I trust you….”

Fenris pulled up, looking down at her quizzically. “Trust me?”

“Yes Fenris, trust you. I trust you with my life! There are others I trust just as much but with you my trust is something of a different color. I trust you enough to let you see me do something that personal, to _want_ you to see it,” she whispered, wanting so much to touch him, to cup his cheek and slip her fingers through his hair but he wouldn’t turn her hands loose. “I _was_ wanton because I wanted you to like what you saw so I just… I don’t know,” she sighed, vaguely frustrated at his silence and her own inability to explain. “I just imagined it was you and….”

The words died in her throat at the change in his expression, going from confused to intent faster than she could follow and it suddenly dawned on her what she had admitted.

“Me,” he whispered, his voice as intense as his expression as the implications of what she had said sank in. “When you closed your eyes you were…” he paused to tip his head just a fraction before finishing, “Picturing me?”

“Yes,” was all she could say to him - she had started this and she had to see it through. He closed his eyes and stayed that way for long enough she was starting to think it had been a mistake. She was trying to decide what to say when his eyes snapped back open and she gasped involuntarily at their expression, their color and their power. Before she could work the lump in her throat loose he had captured both her wrists in one of his hands and shifting his position slightly slid his now free hand between them.  When his hand cupped her, pressing gently, she struggled for air.

“You imagined me doing this?” he asked, his voice suddenly smooth and completely sure of himself. Here he knew his footing and she knew better than to fight it, instead nodding wordlessly. “Maybe this as well?” He slid his hand back the way it had come, adding just enough pressure to one finger that it slipped just past her outer defenses and she bit her lip, nodding again. He rumbled deep in his chest and smiled knowingly at her. “Or this perhaps?” The pad of his finger brushed lightly across her and she hissed, trying to push up into his finger but his weight kept her trapped just where she was. His smile grew as he felt her try and he dipped his head to her ear as he pushed his finger in more fully and began toying with her, feeling how she almost immediately tensed and groaned. “She taught me this,” he whispered, “Taught me just how to approach it, how to tease and treat it. If I got it wrong she was harsh, nothing that Danarius might notice but unpleasant all the same, so I was careful to pay attention, to know just what it was she wanted.” He paused to chuckle as she arched into him, struggling to pay attention to what he was saying when all she wanted was to lose herself in what he was doing. “She never enjoyed it the way you do. Or maybe she did but didn’t ‘trust’ me enough to show it this way. I don’t care,” his voice had grown deeper, rougher as watching her writhe under his ministrations raised his own desires. So when he paused to catch her lower lip in his teeth and bite down gently to get her attention focused on him again and she opened her eyes she was not surprised to see how much he wanted her painted across his face. “I only care that it makes _you_ react this way, that you imagined _this_ when you touched yourself.”

With that he claimed her mouth greedily, began working his fingers in earnest and snatched away any hope she might have had for keeping her sanity. Whimpering into his kiss she gave into the pleasure he was conjuring as easily as she did magic and let it carry her away.

Fenris didn’t think he had ever been this aware of her, of every sharp intake of breath, of even the slightest muscle twitch. When he had been forced to abandon her mouth for lack of oxygen he had taken to watching her face, studying every expression as she lay completely helpless and totally committed to what he knew she was feeling. He could even smell her as she got wetter and wetter for his questing fingers. Studying her he thought he might even understand the trust she had tried to describe to him because she was the absolute picture of it right now, for him and that thought made it all that much more erotic and him that much harder with the want to possess her completely. But he held himself in check, the only thing giving away his urgency was how much harder his fingers worked to wrest her completion from her. He wanted to see it, wanted to have that look of bliss in his mind as he buried himself inside her and lost himself there.

As if reading his mind she suddenly arched into him, every muscle either tensed or twitching madly as she stopped breathing for just a second before gasping his name. He decided in that moment that she had never looked so beautiful to him. She definitely had rarely fired his blood so hot so she had barely relaxed into the mattress when he slid his hand loose of her and hooked one of her knees, pulling it up so he could thrust himself fully into her. She gasped at the sudden invasion and tugged her hands, still trapped by his. He growled at her, tightening his grip and pulling them as far as he could over her head. He watched as he rode her, her expressions changing by the moment as she took in what he was doing and willingly wrapping both legs around him. One hand now free he stroked at her from thigh to hip, enjoying the feel of the muscles there as she used him as leverage to work herself to his time. And it didn’t take him long before he was gasping, his strong rhythm thrown to chaos as his own climax thundered through him and he was left lying atop her limp and happy to be that way.

“Woman,” he gasped as he fought to catch his breath and footing at the same time, “You are quite possibly one of the most fascinating and _frustrating_ creatures the Maker has put in this world.”

Hawke turned into his ear, nuzzling at it as she smiled to herself and tugged her wrists free from his tired, nerveless hand to wrap around his shoulders.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Fenris chuckled, suddenly sleepy even if dawn was breaking. He had suspected she might.

They lay like that for some time, both relaxed and enjoying the feel of the other. Finally what he had said drove Hawke to speak, whispering with a mild amusement to lighten her voice. “So I have Hadriana to thank for your ability to turn me completely mindless?” She felt his shoulders tense but stroked at them gently until he nodded wordlessly into her neck. “I would thank her if the thought of it didn’t make me want to watch her burn slowly and I’m a mage, I can not only imagine it I could _do_ it.”

Fenris pulled away from her neck to look at her. She didn’t immediately meet his eye, staring instead at the ceiling and swallowing hard at the lump of anger lodged in her throat but when she did he could see she was very much serious.

“Don’t say such things Marian,” he whispered, “She’s gone.”

“No she isn’t,” Hawke disagreed, trying to keep her voice light but it shook despite her best effort. “She’s here every time we are together Fenris, she’s here right now.” She paused to trace the lyrium across his shoulder before looking back at him. “The scars Danarius left are often as not obvious for anyone looking with half a thought to see but hers are insidious, they rear their ugly head without warning.”

Fenris studied her a moment, completely lost in a turmoil of things raging inside him at what she had said, at the frank honesty of her words and the emotions she left there in her eye for him to see. It was suddenly too much – the complete entirety of everything that had happened between them and he didn’t know what to do with it. Usually anger was his savior in these situations but he found he couldn’t be angry with her, not when it was so obvious that she actually cared enough to try fighting this demon. She shouldn’t have to, he knew.  He should have the strength to do it himself and until this moment had thought himself mostly successful. Now he saw that he had only held it at bay, that she had been aware of it all along.

Hawke felt him start to shake, probably before even he was aware of it and when he tried to roll away to quite literally run from the situation she followed him. She caught him as he slid his legs over the edge of the bed, throwing her arms around his shoulders and refusing to be dislodged, not even when his tattoos raged to life. When he realized that short of hurting her he was not going to escape, he seemed to deflate and just sat head bowed and studying his hands as they lay on his thighs. Hawke buried her face in his hair behind his ear and just breathed, just letting him breathe as well. They stayed like that for a few minutes, silence ruling the room until finally she let one hand fall to his chest to trace at the tattoos there, not needing to see them to know where they were, where each ended, just glad that they had dulled even if they hadn’t gone out.

“Fenris I want to help you,” she whispered, “But you _have_ to let me.”

He was silent for a long while, long enough to make her nervous but she held her ground and waited for him. He _had_ to be the one that took this step or it would have no meaning at all.

“I don’t know how,” he finally responded, his voice so sad and lonely it broke her heart to hear it but she pushed it way.

“Talk to me,” she told him earnestly. “About anything, everything even if it hurts, even if it is something horrible because I _want_ to hear it, I _want_ to help you carry this weight! Don’t you understand? I love you, more than anything in all my life and that means I will stand beside you, even _carry_ you if that is what it takes!”

He sat silently for a few minutes and she knew he was thinking. She wished she knew about what exactly, wished she had the power to just instantly fix things because his pain was searing. For all the gifts that the Maker had given her she was reduced to begging this proud and frightened man to let her in so she might stand a chance of being some _real_ use to him.

“Even,” he finally asked in a small, unsure voice, “Even Anders?”

Hawke sat for just a split second feeling like she’d been struck. Never once had it occurred to her that Anders was this sort of an issue for him and she should have but she didn’t have the luxury of kicking herself now.

“ _Yes_ ,” she hissed fiercely, “Even more than Anders. There were always places I would not go for him, things I would _never_ do. There is nothing – _nothing_ I would refuse you, no pain I would not endure if it spared _you_.”

He started shaking again and she knew the urge to flee was racing through him once more. Working her way around him until she sat on knees planted on either side of him she gathered his face into her hands and raised so she could see him, so that he was forced to face her and see that she was being as honest and serious as she had ever been with him. “That is what love is Fenris, that and so much more. It’s not always easy; it’s not always rainbows and starlight. It’s complicated, it’s messy and it can be downright painful but if, for that one person you are willing to endure all of that? It is the safest, most enduring and passionate friendship you will _ever_ have. You just have to trust is all. _Trust_ _me_ because believe me I will never intentionally hurt you if I can avoid it.”

When a wave of pain washed across his until now stunned face, she didn’t fight it when his arms wrapped around her and he buried his face in her chest. He might be hiding but at least he wasn’t running. And right at this moment that was a victory indeed. So she buried one hand in his hair and let the other run lightly down his neck and back. She had waited this long, she could wait a while longer if that was what he needed. Indeed this moment seemed timeless and later she could not define the amount of it they spent like that but finally, brokenly he began to speak. It wasn’t about Hadriana, nor even Danarius though she knew he was an easier subject for him but he was _talking_ and she raised her eyes to the ceiling. Never had she been much of a religious person but at that moment she thanked the Maker before laying her cheek to the top of his head and listening to everything he was willing to tell her.


	56. Chapter 56

Hassrath gazed into the dying fire as if hoping it had the answers he sought, as if his mind and spirit weren’t so agitated that it was a torment to him. This restlessness flouted definition, made focus at best difficult and completely defied the meditation that promised to bring insight. The disquiet inside moved him to crave physical action but he had thus far refused. Curled against him, the gentle sleeping rhythm of her breath giving him what little focus he could manage, was Maraas.  If he were to give into this appetite to move not only would he disturb her, deep in his heart he wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to return to her and this moment which even in his state he could see for its peace. She had not asked; had made it plain she didn’t require explanation from him for the understanding she willingly gave. He wasn’t even sure how long he had stood holding her tightly to him, breathing deeply of the softly floral perfume of her hair as he sought to tame the riot of emotions that were ravaging his soul, but in the end it hadn’t mattered. Her gentle and silent embrace had managed what he had thought impossible and slowly he felt his muscles relax as the tidal wave receded, but now he was left with a damaged landscape, scoured by his anger and disappointment and hurt.

And fear.

Deep in the night, lulled physically if not emotionally by the woman he had come to accept meant more to him than even dogma or personal belief, he had to admit to this emotion he did not often allow himself. He was afraid because he did not completely understand. A lack of understanding was something Qunari dreaded, often refused to acknowledge and he was no different. But since their introduction to this world of complete contradiction and inconsistency it was a bruise to his ego that he had learned to accept, at least to an extent and at least so long as no one was actively worrying the wound. Fenris had not only worried the wound- he’d caused it to bleed, had caused a great deal more injury that Hassrath suspected he didn’t yet understand and this suspicion made him long for the meditation that had so far eluded him. Examination would, he knew, banish the uncertainty but it also meant facing demons he would rather leave in the Fade. Because he was unsure he understood the scope of it. Fenris had freely admitted that what he had done was cause for extreme censure and that in all likelihood he would be unable to escape it. Hassrath had been chosen for the Ben Hassrath because of a strong sense of order, a preference for following rules. His current circumstances had amply proven that despite those inclinations in his nature he was capable of bending when given the proper motivation but he was not entirely sure just how far he could bend without breaking. He might not understand it but what Fenris had done was wrong in the eyes of his world and that he had withheld that knowledge….

A lie by omission was, in fact, still a lie. And Fenris had sullied him with that same lie, had even enlisted the aid of the boy and tarnished that as well. Sighing deeply Hassrath looked away from the fireplace and down at the woman that lay next to him, stretched with absolute trust along him as she dreamed of who knew what. As well as he knew her she was still sometimes a complete mystery. It was the innocent peacefulness of her as she slept that quieted his turmoil at least enough that sleep managed to sneak up to take him.

* * *

 

Truss looked about the training hall. Though they had only promised to train twenty knights and that chore was for the most part accomplished, until this day Fenris and Hassrath had continued to return to the hall, had continued to make themselves available even to those who had not been chosen for them. A great deal of the time they spent sitting to the side watching but whenever something offended them enough neither had been shy to say it, to demonstrate just how such mistakes could easily lead to your death.

As usual since their training was finished those of the knights that were not assigned a walk with the city guards at that hour assembled to practice what they had learned, to teach it when asked and there were plenty enough to demonstrate to. Templars of all caliber, proficiency and rank who were not on duty and who were curious to learn came. Some, like the older knights watched with quick eyes and fast minds, asking a sharp question when something that defied their prior training was observed. Some came prepared to spar, to develop the strength and muscle memory they would need to accomplish their goal.

But not today.

Today neither man had come to the hall and Truss felt many sideways glances shot his direction as the Templars each wondered what kept them. There were more than two hundred Templars housed inside the Gallows, perhaps two hundred beyond their number of mages that were in their charge. The Gallows was in its own way its own town and like any community, it had its own rumor mill. There were those among them that knew the story of Hassrath’s furious visit to Truss’s room, those among them that had seen Fenris sporting a damaged face. They all knew Truss was their prodigy, taken under their wings at the Knight-Commander’s request in an attempt to tame his impetuous nature and it was obvious they thought Truss privy to why neither man had known. Truss did not care to know what speculation seeped through the halls, whatever it was it probably did not come anywhere close to brushing against the truth of it and for that he was eternally grateful.

Stubbornly he had stayed, doing what he expected of himself if not what was expected from him. He honestly did not care what the others thought of him on this day in particular, he had far more weighty things on his mind than the opinions of those around him. Despite Fenris’s assertion that the sword in his hand was something that belonged to him he had come very close to leaving it behind this morning. It might be his and he may have even earned the right to wield it although how exactly still eluded him, but it felt somehow tarnished now, like its meaning had been damaged and maybe it had but he had no one to blame but himself. It had been Hassrath that had lead him through it, guiding him with astute question, prodding with impatient observation and sometimes even standing stubbornly between where he was and where he wanted to be, angrily berating him for his own arrogance for thinking in such a way. And it had been Hassrath he had most sorely offended by keeping Fenris’s secret, by throwing his loyalty behind a man who had showed him very little kindness until last night. The whys still eluded him and today at least he didn’t care to examine them further. He just wanted to endure it and escape to the solitude of his own room. When finally he felt he had spent sufficient time in the hall he gracefully made his escape. He was sure his quiet had been fuel for any gossiping fire among those behind him but it wasn’t to be helped. He refused to hide from the consequences of actions that had not been his. The consequences for his part in the ensuing deceptions… well that part he’d work through despite what they all thought, or would anyway once the entire truth was known.

If solitude was what he sought his room would not provide it. Pushing the door open he found Fenris sitting at the desk hidden in the corner, the Chant spread open before him. Choosing to ignore his presence beyond a less than pleased look shot in the direction of the elf, he instead busied himself with stripping out of his armor and placing it on the armor stand next to his bed. He tried to decide just what he had to say to this man but found he couldn’t make up his mind. He was angry at him and that tended to drown out other things but he was unsure that wrath was what Fenris deserved. If Truss had not understood Fenris’s reasons then he wouldn’t have been so willing to keep his secrets, dangerous things that they were. And he had seen what Hassrath’s venom had earned him though his wounds were now healed, what more damage could his own bile do? So far as he knew he was nothing to this man, he only tolerated him. But then… exactly what had last night been about? Sighing as he finished his task without clearer idea what he needed to do, he finally sat heavily on his bed without looking at Fenris.

Fenris watched him from the corner of his eye. He had been unsure of his welcome but felt he owed the boy the knowledge that their secret had spread further than their little brotherhood. As exhausted as he was both physically and emotionally sleep had continued to eluded him until finally he had just given up, leaving Hawke to her slumbers . He felt raw both inside and out, and it wasn’t something he was prepared for. Physical pain meant little to him because it had been such a consequence of his continued existence and regardless of its volume it rarely had the ability to drown out his thoughts. This pain was different, he had no defenses against it because until now he had never encountered it and he didn’t know precisely what to do with it or about it. He only knew that his lifelong habit of hiding it behind anger would not work – it was too exposed now and there was no protecting it. He supposed that like a physical wound he would have to learn to accommodate it and wait while time healed it but in this his lyrium could be of no assistance.

“I wanted to apologize again,” Fenris started, pausing to hold up a hand when Truss shot him a heated look, “And I know you do not care for it but I will do it just the same. It never occurred to me that Hassrath would be angry with you and I know now that I should have. I was too involved in what this situation meant for me to concern myself and it was a mistake. I wish I knew what to say to you but I don’t.” Fenris sighed heavily, looking at the book open on the desk next to him. He was completely unsure of himself and it was a feeling he didn’t like but if he had learned nothing from Hawke’s lessons in the night this was one thing he understood – he must admit to his ignorance or face forever being judged for misunderstandings he had not intended. “I am unused to having to concern myself for the feelings and welfare of anyone but my master, myself included. I am still learning this maze that is friendship, still deciding what is best to be done with the things it brings to the table because until now that table was bare. I find myself a child but without a child’s ability to adapt.” Looking back at the now completely unreadable expression on Truss’s face Fenris sighed, frustrated and saddened by all of it. “I am sorry.”

Truss’s pride held him tight, his anger unwilling to release him further than listening. It defied the understanding Fenris sought and Fenris seemed to sense it and understand. He did not push further, instead closing the book he stood and held it out to Truss.

“I… had no choice but to tell Hawke and unfortunately the Grand Enchantress so they both know that I stole the Chant.” Truss accepted the book, nodding and bracing himself for what else was to come. If their knowledge concerning the situation was to be a problem then Fenris would not be here, quite possibly he would not be here as well and they would be having this conversation from cells. “They have agreed to keep silent until Cullen’s return but no longer. So long as I keep to my word you are safe and no one but we five will know of your involvement. I am hoping you will continue to see to the Chant’s safety for me and continue to honor Hassrath’s intent in having me procure it for you and resume your study.”

Truss sat silent for a time, the Chant heavy on his lap and studied Fenris. If his scrutiny made the other man uncomfortable he gave no indication – his face was unreadable, something Truss had come to expect from the marked elf. But his eyes were sad and that sadness made Truss unaccountably uncomfortable. Sighing heavily, he finally nodded and satisfied Fenris left him. The door had not much more than closed behind him when Truss suddenly regretted his own intransience. Fenris had done something he suspected he rarely did – bared himself to him, ignoring the possible repercussions. That Truss himself had not managed more than an agreement to continue this damaged relationship without consideration for repairs suddenly made his gut clench painfully. So when he found himself outside the door, watching Fenris’s back he knew he could not leave it like it was.

“Fenris!”

The elf paused but did not turn, instead looking at the wall and showing Truss only his profile. He was too far away and the hallway was too dim for Truss to see more so he swallowed hard at the lump of anxiety in his throat.

“I’m sorry as well.”

Fenris stood frozen a moment, studying the grain of the stone block his eyes had focused on. The relief that washed through him was frightening, a living and breathing thing that made his knees suddenly weak. But with a Templar audience he was unwilling to make himself a show. He nodded once and continued on his way, hoping that Truss understood.

* * *

“Mother tells me there is something wrong with Fenris,” Kirill sighed, leaning against the rampart to look out over the sea. “She asked me to volunteer as your escort so I could ask you about it.”

Hawke turned a shrewd look at the young Templar. She had suspected as much but found herself surprised at his candor. He was sure to know more than he was admitting to at first blush and she wondered just what rumors were running the halls. She turned her eye back out over the horizon, gloomy with the threat of a storm and mused that at least now she understood why he had suggested she accompany him here.

“Fenris is,” she sighed, “Having some trouble adapting to freedom Kirill. Danarius was apparently jealous of his creation and kept him very isolated so he has no frame of reference for dealing with others except in the most superficial ways. Now he is being forced into relationships that are deeper than that and he is struggling with it.”

Kirill listened attentively and after a moment’s thought, he nodded. Hawke sighed, unsure just how much she could freely admit to this young man but wishing him to understand his uncle as something more than just a Tevinter slave.

“He’s a very brave man Kirill,” she finally asserted. “I am sure there has not been a day since I killed his master that he has not felt unsure and frightened by something that was going on around him. But he hasn’t allowed it to stop him, he’s just kept going. A lot of the time he’s done that by just ignoring the problem but let’s face it, there is only so much one man can face at any given time so he can be forgiven for that. But it’s beginning to catch up now and he’s got no options but to face the demons, so to speak.” Reaching over she clapped a hand to Kirill’s shoulder. “And all we can really do is watch, and maybe be there to catch him if he falls. It’s something he has to do on his own.”

Kirill didn’t look at her, instead staring at his hands were they rested on the wall, considering what she had said. He was an introverted sort, Hawke mused, something he shared with his uncle. Studying his profile she was again amazed at just how much he resembled Fenris and mused that she often thought the same thing whenever she saw Varania. She wondered vaguely who it was they both most resembled, amazed again at the continuity of it all and a little sad that Fenris couldn’t see it himself. He admitted to her that some of his memories were returning but that they were frustratingly vague, sometimes nothing more than a fleeting feeling associated with something happening now. She couldn’t imagine it, not having the anchor that her own childhood represented. It was in a very real way responsible for who she was even now and she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of person she would be without it as a filter through which her life today ran.

Fenris had been gone when she woke after a few hours of sleep and she had considered looking for him but had decided against it. If there was one thing she had learned about him was that he often needed time to worry these things from every direction. He was a man that lived to a large extent inside his own head – a necessity in his former life but one she hoped last night had proven to him wasn’t always required now. She rather suspected that after some of the things he had admitted to her he simply wasn’t ready to face her yet because if she had suspected his life to be ugly now she knew its truth. Or some of it at least, there was more she knew. She just hoped his courage didn’t fail him.

It was hard to say just how long the two of them stood in silent contemplation before some movement down the rampart caught Hawke’s eye. It was Maraas and as usual behind her Hassrath and despite herself she felt herself ruffling at the sight of them, at how Hassrath in particular was simply ignoring her presence as they walked along the high walkway. By the time they drew level Hawke had had enough. With a speed taught to her by years of rogue training she was after Hassrath before anyone could react, having to throw her weight onto her toes and in order to land a sound punch at his jaw. Hassrath staggered back, more out of surprise than any pain she had caused and Hawke began dancing around cursing at the pain that her not entirely thought out attack had instead caused _her_. The pause gave Maraas time to take in what had happened and anticipate it when Hassrath, his eyes thunderous stepped towards Hawke. “How dare you!” he roared but was paused when Maraas stepped between them, her eyes holding a warning to him to control his temper.

“How dare I?” Hawke shot back, the sound of his voice making her forget the pain in her hand and wrist and turn on him again, shaking off Kirill as she did. “Don’t touch me boy,” she snarled over her shoulder, “I’m a mage and you are _not_ yet a knight, you _can’t_ stop me!”

“You wouldn’t,” Hassrath shot back over Maraas, “Not standing in the heart of the remaining Templars!”

“Oh you might be surprised,” Hawke growled, “Just what I would dare, especially for the sake of Fenris!” She paused just long enough to push Maraas, her anger giving her the strength to move the larger woman out of her way so that she could stand toe to toe with her much larger opponent. “I want to know just what you were thinking!”

Hassrath studied her a moment before glancing at where Kirill was helping Maraas to her feet and then back. He wondered just how much she knew.

“He was wrong,” he finally growled as diplomatically and obliquely as he could.

“Oh course he was,” Hawke hissed back. “But he was doing it for good reason.”

“It was not what I asked of him,” Hassrath snarled contemptuously, seeing now she knew it all.

“You need to stop thinking with whatever it is you have hidden under those horns and start paying attention with this,” she paused to slap her hand to the center of his chest, “Because if you were doing that you would see his reasons. He felt he had no choice.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

“Not when you are a slave and that is what he is, even to this day you big jackass! Slaves are trained to do anything to make their masters happy and that was what he was doing.”

That made Hassrath’s head rock back as he took it in, but his heavy brows promptly drew together in a scowl. “I am _not_ his master.”

“No you are something with even more power, you’re his _friend_.”

Hassrath didn’t respond, instead he shook Hawke’s hand loose and took Maraas’s arm, pulling her after him as he stalked away. Hawke stood watching long after they disappeared back inside the Gallows, hands clenched, using the pain in her bruised had to keep herself from following. Kirill stood to the side, taking her threat very seriously even now because he could see she was fighting the urge to follow. Finally after a few moments he laid a light hand on her shoulder, standing firm when she shot a heated look his direction.

“First Enchantress Vistana is waiting Hawke,” he reminded her, “And it wouldn’t do for her to see you like this.”

“Why not?” Hawke snorted after studying his face a few moments and realizing he didn’t intend to do anything about any of what he had just witnessed. Maybe Fenris had more behind him than he thought. “She’s seen me much worse believe me.”

Kirill nodded, wondering just what she was referring to but wisely kept to himself, following behind her when after a few deep breathes she finally made for the door.

* * *

Hawke stopped at the door, hand on the latch and just laid her head wearily to the wood. The entire day had from beginning to end had been nothing but stress – from post-coital confessions at dawn to hours spent in a meeting with First Enchanters Vistana and Jaroslav along with about a dozen Enchanters that was made tense when they asked Maraas to join. Of course that meant Hassrath hovering in the background and possibly the hardest part of her day was ignoring him, ignoring the way Kirill came to attention at his arrival and ignoring the subtle looks that Vistana kept shooting her as she noticed. Especially after what she had seen last night and especially after the agitated condition Hawke had arrived in. And all this lumped onto brooding about what might happen when Cullen returned and Fenris confessed. She didn’t think Cullen would turn him over to the city guard but there was no telling. The whole of Kirkwall was in arms and simply announcing the book’s return wouldn’t slake the thirst for what they thought of as justice. 

Great Maker, she mused, why can’t I just fall in love with some boring tradesmen? Why must you continually test me with such complicated men?

When a hand landed lightly on her shoulder she nearly jumped out of her skin. She had been so wrapped up in her own head that she had completely forgotten Kirill, who had insisted on remaining with her even after his shift had ended. She hadn’t taken the time to consider his motivations but now it reared its ugly head, yet another stress. She looked over her shoulder at the young templar a moment, studying the look of concern.

“Kirill….”

“Don’t worry,” he cut her off smoothly, “I’ll volunteer to be your escort for the foreseeable future and I will see to one for Fenris. Someone I know can be trusted.”

Hawke eyed him warily a moment but he seemed to have already mastered the neutral look that all templars were taught.

“Why?”

“Because,” Kirill replied after taking a deep thoughtful breath, “The two of you are important to what is going on here and because he is important to my mother.”

There were worse reasons so Hawke simply nodded. Kirill smiled and turned away, leaving her to stare after him until he disappeared around a corner. Fenris definitely had more people in his corner than he understood. Sighing, she looked at the templar that was left to stand watch over their door overnight, discreetly as usual across the hall and pushed the door open. She almost dreaded what she was going to find and at first she thought the room empty. It was certainly dark, the only light coming from the fireplace but at second glance she saw that it wasn’t. As she pushed the door shut, leaning against it as she did she spotted a slight movement on the other side of the couch and giving her eyes the chance to acclimate she realized what she saw over the back of the couch was Fenris, sitting on the floor in almost the exact spot he’d been sitting in the night before.

He didn’t acknowledge her arrival, simply sat staring off into the fire, legs bent, arms draped across them. The deceptively warm glow it managed to produce was illuminating him gently but didn’t quite make it to his face. That was veiled behind the long bangs he tended to use to hide behind, observing the world through the illusion of anonymity they afforded him. At some point he’d stripped out of his shirt, she guessed when the fire had been stronger because now there was a bit of chill in the room but he didn’t seem to notice or care. She wondered how long he had been sitting like this, wondered just what was going through his head, wondered if the mimicry of last night was intentional or not. Even if it was his body language wasn’t nearly so closed off though it seemed to be just as wary and defeated. Sighing, Hawke laid her head back against the door and closed her eyes, trying to collect herself because whether or not he realized it he needed her and she knew she needed to be the strong one this time. Thinking back what seemed an eternity now, it was Tansina’s words that steeled her – “Then there is no one better to look over him with concern and affection.” With those words echoing in her memory she pushed away from the door.

Standing next to him, he didn’t move. Indeed the stillness of him just seemed to increase at her approach and studying him she began to understand. He wasn’t trying to hide behind that motionlessness, he was bracing. He expected more of what she had delivered and was holding himself ready for it, always expecting pain even when none was forthcoming. She would have found it frustrating if she didn’t know that so far Thedas hadn’t really shown him he should expect different. Even she hadn’t and it shamed her to admit it. She’d been too wrapped up in her own problems and the issues she had taken on to consider that this man who had come to mean so very much to her was still bleeding – he hid it so very well. Brushing his arms aside she lowered herself between his knees, sitting facing him in the dim light. Still he did nothing but accommodate her, turning to gaze between his bangs at something else and she decided if she waited for him they might be there all night.

Reaching out she brushed his bangs away and revealed his face. He still wasn’t meeting her eye but in the dim light that fell over her shoulder from the fire at her back she could see that his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. His pride had forced him to grieve alone and it made her heart ache to see evidence of it. Without her thinking and almost of its own volition her hand remained where it was, gently toying with his silvered hair. After a few moments his eyes slid closed and slowly he started to relax. She could see the muscles of his throat begin working furiously at whatever it was that obviously lodged there but she didn’t pursue anything more than the gentle petting. She had spent the night before besieging his defenses but now she refused to be an invading force. There were some things she could not do for him and this was one of those steps he had to make on his own. _He_ had to come out side to meet _her_ so that he could see despite whatever pain she might cause him, she was no foe to be regarded cautiously.

She was beginning to wonder if he had it in him when he suddenly reached up and cupped her hand in his, pulling it down out of his hair so he could turn his face into it, eyes still closed. He sat breathing in its scent - the vague smell of parchment and ink, of sweat and of magic which no manner of washing could completely remove from a mage’s hands. She watched him carefully. He was she knew at the wall, staring warily out of the breach she had created, afraid to step out to reveal himself and afraid to remain hidden in the shadows his palisades cast. How lonely that must feel she thought, and how terrifying must it be to abandon the only protection you’ve ever known. She let her thumb trace along his cheek and that broke him from his pall because his eyes slid open. In their green she saw all manner of things she never wished to see there again – his pain, his uncertainty, and yes his fear. Most of all she saw his weakness, his complete inability to take that first step but he was reaching out to her with what little courage remained to him and something inside her refused to abandon him this close. Blinking at tears that his agony caused she leaned forward and laid her forehead to his, never losing his gaze.

“Please,” she whispered as her tears spilled loose, her voice deepened by the emotion that tightened her throat agonizingly. Her pain, pain he knew he had caused her gave him the courage to step away and his face suddenly twisted, sobs hitching his chest painfully as he reached out and gathered her as close to him as he could, his hands clutching at the fabric of her tunic. He never lost her eye though and she realized as she watched his own tears that he wanted her to see this, wanted her to understand just what she had reduced him to. That was fine, this little defiance, because he wouldn’t be Fenris without it. But she could also see that he now understood she was in fact salvation, a place where he could hide and know he could be as weak as he needed to be because she would be there to protect him.


	57. Chapter 57

“Aveline….”

“I will not be treated like a child Ser Cullen,” Aveline cut him off. She very well knew the teyrn’s personal healer had ordered her kept in bed and she didn’t care. The Crow healer had mended bones and knit flesh with skill enough that there weren’t to be any ugly scars but the soreness would never work out if she didn’t move around some. “I know my limits.”

Carver sighed, knowing that trying to reason with her was in all likelihood an exercise in futility. This wasn’t the first time he had seen her defy orders, and not only those of healers. She’d even been known to defy his own on occasion so he was pretty sure it wouldn’t do to try now. Seneschal Markard had often questioned his tolerance of his guard captain’s cheek but Carver had long ago come to understand that by directly questioning him she was forcing him to justify his decisions. And often as not she had points in her favor so the sometimes lively debate that would inevitably ensue because they were both of them stubborn had become something Carver valued, even if it sometimes came with a bit of a price.

“Aveline,” he started, deciding to try despite experience. “We aren’t trying to say you don’t. But I’ve watched you push too hard before….” Pausing he struggled a little with himself but finally just decided to say it. “And Donnic isn’t here to tell you no.” He knew it had been a mistake the second she stopped dead in her tracks.

“What?” she turned, a surprised look on her face.

“Donnic isn’t here,” Carver sighed, looking to Cullen for help but Cullen just cocked an eyebrow and raised a hand to mockingly indicate that Carver should by all means continue digging himself a hole so Carver backtracked a little. “It’s just that I’ve noticed Donnic is the only one that can convince you to be reasonable sometimes….”

“What?” Aveline felt her face start to flush and silently cursed that fair complexioned tendency. Curse the lot of them! She was no weeping violet to be vetted for bruises! “Reasonable? I’m _always_ reasonable! I just refuse to be _coddled_!”

Cullen swallowed a smile at her pluck, not being nearly as personally familiar with the guard captain as Carver. When Carver shot a helpless look at him he decided maybe he should come to the regent’s aid. If there was one thing he had some experience with it was dealing with a strong willed woman – he had more than a few inside the Gallows. Snagging the back of an available chair he carried it to where Aveline stood by the window and sat it down firmly.

“Sit.”

When Aveline just looked at him, refusing to even look at the chair Cullen sighed and before she had a chance to protest, swooped her up and sat her in the chair. Leaning over and planting his hands on the arms to keep her there he came very close to pressing the end of his nose to hers to silence her sputtering.

“Guard Captain Aveline,” he intoned authoritatively. “I don’t need to tell you that we are here for a very important cause. But I will point out that if we are worrying about you we are distracted from our mission. I may have learned all the fancy talk and proper speech but I am as much a soldier as you are and from what I have been told from far more common stock to boot. If you don’t start listening I won’t have any problems with tying you down.”

Aveline limited herself to a glare as he stood back up, not entirely sure that the Knight-Commander wouldn’t do just exactly as he promised and after a moment she sighed. Carver took that as his opportunity and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Aveline, we don’t want to be hard to live with but with any luck we will have the details hammered out and an agreement signed soon. Ordinarily I might remain a few weeks in the spirit of diplomacy and all but all of us need to be back in Kirkwall so I’m not even interested in allowing the ink to dry first.” When she sighed heavily he shot an amused look over her head at Cullen. “Besides, if I don’t deliver you back in at least marginally the same shape I accepted you in Donnic might just decide to do something… drastic?”

Aveline shot a surprised look at Carver, trying to picture this in her head. Donnic was the one who was _always_ calm in the face of a storm, even one of hers. The idea of his losing that cool exterior…. And the mental image of Carver, who she suspected would not be able to best Donnic in a fight…. And Ser Cullen chasing along behind them trying to talk sense into them both…. Oh Maker it was more than she could take in at once. She fought against it, her mouth twitching despite her best efforts and that became funny as well. After a few stifled giggles escaped her she finally decided maybe she _had_ tired herself more than she had thought and just gave up. Carver shot Cullen a look over her head and found that Cullen must have had images similar to Aveline’s flash through his mind. Cullen was looking at Carver with the oddest look of amusement which quickly morphed into outright hilarity when he saw that Carver was not getting the joke. Carver just looked at them both completely at a loss as to what it was he’d said that was so amusing – it was the truth after all. Shaking his head he waited patiently for the two of them to regain their control.

“Now that the two of you are quite done, where is Sebastian?” he finally asked. “I need to have a word with him.”

Aveline took a deep breath to steady herself and refused to meet Cullen’s eye for fear it might set her to giggling again.

“They went off somewhere a little while ago,” she responded, keeping her voice deliberately light. “Baldovin said something about being invited on a ride. I suspect the teyrn’s wife has ideas about marrying Sebastian off to one of her handmaids.”

“I wish her luck with that one,” Carver sighed as he realized he was to be at least temporarily thwarted.

“Well it is a bit his own fault,” Cullen pointed out levelly. “If he presented himself less as a pious man and more like the devotee he is then they might take those vows of his more seriously.”

“Oh I have my doubts about that Ser Cullen,” Aveline smirked. “There are a great many women that take those vows as a challenge, _especially_ when the man in question has such a high rank and remarkably handsome to boot.” When Cullen blinked and covered his discomfort at that statement behind an almost delicate cough Aveline’s amusement resurfaced and this time it was Cullen who was left uncomfortably surrounded by laughter.

* * *

Baldovin sighed, doing his very best not to smirk at the sight of Sebastian sitting on top of one of the smallest riding ponies he had ever seen. Apparently in Ostwick the women of the court were fond of these small steeds and the tyrna had managed to convince the prince to ride one while accompanying them. Baldovin was just glad she didn’t insist on her guard riding them as well so instead of joining his liege in looking… ridiculous he was given a fine mare to ride instead. When he had questioned the head of her personal guard about the practice he insisted that he tolerated it because the forest the women rode in was a royal one and well guarded. And should anything untoward ever happen it wouldn’t take much to swoop in and pull the ladies onto the bigger steeds, which was why there were never fewer guards than there were ponies.

“It is a risk,” the man agreed, “Those ponies can’t outrun a more normally sized horse but they can outrun any man on foot. And truth of it is that unless it is absolutely necessary I don’t enjoy the consequences of refusing the tyrna.”

The seriousness with which that had been delivered made Baldovin glad he was in Sebastian’s service.

“I am rather proud of you Prince Sebastian. Most foreign men I have invited to ride with us looked a lot less… comfortable on these ponies.”

Sebastian managed a vague smile for the tyrna before glancing back down at the small pony he sat astride. In all honesty he wasn’t entirely ‘comfortable’ on the little guy’s back and he was glad he hadn’t worn any more armor than his scaled surcoat. Years spent on the back of a horse had come to his rescue and it hadn’t taken him long to learn the rhythm of the little horse’s stride.

“Not so foreign m’lady I assure you,” he countered her smoothly. “Are we not both Marchers?”

“Ah yes, we are but your friends from Kirkwall? Their manner of speaking is not nearly so pleasant,” the tyrna paused to smile conspiratorially. “Nor is their manner in general so refined.”

Sebastian tipped his head as he considered that one. This was actually the first time he had ever met the tyrna although he had heard many a rumor about how the teyrn had wooed himself an Orlesian lady so long ago. She still had touches of the accent though the years in Ostwick had blunted its flourish. The rumors had that it had not taken long for the shine to come off the apple as it were and for the tyrna to regret her decision to marry into what a great many in Orlais would consider an inferior stock. He wondered if she dealt with her disappointment with bitterness perhaps.

“The people of Kirkwall are no better or worse than any other along the coast, yours included if I may say so m’lady. Kirkwall has Vimmarks to her back and the Planascene Forest to her west and that leaves little room for them to make their mark in any meaningful way except in trade.” He smiled charmingly to take the edge off his mild rebuff. “And Carver is quietly building, not just within the city but without as well. He has been instrumental in taming some of that wild country, has seen vineyards planted as well as cotholds for farming and animal husbandry. And he has notions of building a better fleet of ships to protect the waters around Kirkwall.”

“He thinks to build a navy?” one of the handmaids asked shyly.

“I don’t know that I would call it a navy,” Sebastian replied diplomatically. “I believe he is more of a mind to have faster ships, ones that can catch the pirates as opposed to running them off. To his mind if you can take their ships? They will think twice about acting out of turn inside your territory.”

“Yes but,” the tyrna replied with a forced blitheness that told Sebastian he had needled her just a little. “They are more Ferelden now than Orlesian and the Fereldans are of such common stock.”

“It is true,” Sebastian sighed heavily, “There was a marked influx of Fereldan blood during the last blight. But the truth is that the Fereldans are hard and loyal workers and I believe Kirkwall is the better for them. Keep in mind that both her knight-commander and her viscount are from Ferelden and no one can accuse either of not working to improve Kirkwall.” Pausing to look up at what little sky he could see through the thick cover of trees he finished thoughtfully, “And after everything they have been through in the last several decades I would pity the man who thinks to try battering down her gates.”

“A mage as viscount!” she scoffed, “And an apostate at that, both before her elevation and it would seem now since she managed to disappear from under your knight-commander’s nose. I see very little to be proud of in that fact Prince Sebastian. Bad enough she was made the Champion of Kirkwall. And this after years of puppet rulers beholden to the Templars?”

“They are taking control of their city m’lady. Give them a chance to prove themselves.”

“Considering their storied history since ousting Orlesian rule? And with a man who is Templar at their lead?”

“ _Especially_ considering their storied history,” he responded promptly, getting just a little tired of her discrimination, “Because now they have something to prove.”

“Perhaps you are right,” she backtracked with some small sense of grace, “There is often nothing with more force than a man with something to prove.”

“Indeed,” Sebastian agreed and deciding it was definitely time to change the subject, he looked at the blonde mane of his pony. “May I ask, just what is this little fellow’s name?”

The women all looked at one another a moment.

“I am not sure,” one of the handmaids, a pretty little thing with hair the color of ripened wheat, replied. “He is new to the stable, one the stablemaster purchased for breeding.”

“Well then,” Sebastian smiled, reaching down to pet at the neck of the pony and smiling when it threw its head up at the attention. “I will give him a name, at least for today. Let’s see….”

“I know!” the pretty blonde brightened after a moment, apparently proud of her wittiness. “He’s stubborn when it suits him and doesn’t much care for the farrier. I was visiting the stables when he was trying to shoe him and all you could hear from that end of the stable was ‘Maker! Maker!’ Well that and a lot of cursing but that wouldn’t do.”

Sebastian threw back his head and laughed at the image of this little horse defying a man probably twice his weight before throwing a roguish grin at the handmaid.

“Ah a spirited beast is he? Well then, Maker it is.” He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, just loud enough for the ladies to hear. “It’s all right Maker, I wouldn’t care for a stranger messing with my feet either.”

They outing had progressed nicely after that and Sebastian found himself actually rather enjoying himself. Eventually the tyrna had called a halt, claiming her backside needed a rest when in actuality she had planned it all along and was fooling no one. The place she chose was the edge of a rather large pond. The clearing it was situated in was quite free from trees and Sebastian suspected it to be artfully done. By the look of things the area had been landscaped and he suspected that come full spring there would be an array of flowers to be seen though at the moment he could see no obvious beds for them. Looking at the tyrna and considering what he had seen so far he was mildly surprised – she seemed to carry her Orlesian blood proudly and in Orlais gardens were obvious, even those meant to be private. Here she had caused the creation of one that it would seem blended with the environment, something she herself seemed intent upon not doing.

“The day is quite lovely considering,” she remarked lightly as she appeared at Sebastian’s side. “The weather this time of year is fickle, one moment winter, the next a taste of spring. I suppose we should be happy that the Maker decided on spring today.”

“Indeed,” Sebastian agreed. The air still had the bite of winter to it but out of the trees and their shade the sun felt warm and inviting. “This is quite a lovely spot you have hidden away in the royal forest m’lady.”

“Please, walk with me Sebastian and please, call me Dagena,” she held out a hand to indicate she wished to stroll along the bank of the pound. “This is no royal function and we are private, or as private as we are likely to get. And I cannot take the credit for it though I do very much enjoy it. No the teyrn’s niece is the one responsible. You may have noticed her? Among my ladies-in-waiting?”

Sebastian held his arm out politely for her to take and in proper form lead the way as he considered her question.

“I do not believe any of your ladies were introduced as a niece.”

“Ah, an oversight on my part and she would be far too mild of manner to correct me. Forgive me I find myself more forgetful as age creeps up on me.” Sebastian made a noise that came very close to being rude at that comment, although Dagena was no maid she was far from a dowager either. She smiled thoughtfully at nothing particular before continuing. “No, it’s true. My mind wanders sometimes. But the life of a royal lady was never actually one of high intellectual pursuit. We are expected to limit ourselves to softer arts.”

“Well from what I have been told,” Sebastian chuckled, “You have never been shy. Why not add more to the repertoire? Surly the teyrn can have no issue with that?”

“You might be surprised. My husband is very old fashioned. Which,” she paused her step and looked up at Sebastian earnestly. “Is as good an opening as I am likely to get to discuss something dear to my heart with you.” Sebastian couldn’t help the surprised look that quickly crossed his face, but he nodded agreeing. “The teyrn’s niece, the one I spoke of earlier? She came to my service a long time ago, indeed much earlier than ordinarily I would have been comfortable with but she needed the protection. When her father died he left a rather large estate and no other heirs. This meant that my husband became her guardian.”

“What of her mother?”

“Died giving her birth,” Dagena sighed. “And such a shame it was. She was one of the handmaids I brought with me from Orlais and was a close friend. Perhaps now you understand my concern for her welfare?” Sebastian nodded thoughtfully, wondering where this was going. “So I took her as a lady-in-waiting before even her tenth birthday and have seen to her education ever since. And the arrangement pleased my husband because it freed him of the burden of seeing to her himself. But now she is older and he has taken notice.”

Sebastian blinked, beginning to understand. She wished to arrange a suitable match for her niece. Such arranged marriages were not uncommon among the upper classes in Thedas and he began wondering who in his acquaintance could possibly fill the role. He glanced at Baldovin, standing politely out of earshot along with one of Dagena’s personal guard, both having followed along as they wandered from the group. Perhaps….

“I would be happy to speak with the teyrn on this subject. I can actually see some advantage to having some ties with Ostwick in our royal houses in Starkhaven…”

“It will not do,” she interrupted him lightly. “The teyrn has decided on a match though he has yet to actually put ink to paper on it.”

“Then…”

“It’s unacceptable!” Dagena grasped his hand in both of hers as she interrupted with an earnest look of pleading in her eye. “He has chosen on purely political grounds, looking for advantage. And ordinarily I would not challenge it but the man behind that title is a monster! I had heard rumors for years but didn’t give it much thought until he was put forward as a match. After that I had one of my retainers look into it and the rumors are mild in comparison to the truth. If I thought it would help I would retain the services of your companion and have him quietly killed but I fear the teyrn would simply marry her off to his son who is just as bad.” She paused when Sebastian’s eyebrow shot straight up. “Yes I know about the Crows in your party even if it wasn’t something announced. The teyrn sometimes forgets that I hold court here as well as he.”

“I fail to see how I can be of service to you in this.”

“Do you?” she replied with a deceptively mild tone. “What I need is a better offer for her hand, one that would bring more to the table because that would surely turn my husband’s eye.” And suddenly it made sense, what exactly it was she was asking. She must have seen the realization on his face because, after a brief pause, she forged ahead before he could protest. “An offer from any royal house would give him reason to reconsider! One from the royal house of Starkhaven would surely change his mind! The political and economic advantage of such a match would be incalculable for Ostwick!”

To hear it so bluntly put made Sebastian backpeddle, this was not the first time such proposition had been laid at his feet but never with quite the ardency as this!

“I am afraid I cannot help you m’lady!” he gasped, trying to find his footing in this conversation. “I have taken vows to the Maker and I will not abandon them now! Even for the sake of an innocent. There has to be another way.”

“No!” she hissed fervently, “There is not! Do not think I have not searched for one! You are her only hope!”

“Madam I….”

“Before you refuse know this,” Dagena pressed on despite his obvious objection. “The Grand Cleric is a dear friend to me and I have sought her guidance in this. It was _she_ who suggested you even knowing of your vows. She assures me that there is nothing in the Chantry doctrine that forbids marriage, only carnal knowledge.”

“I am aware of that,” Sebastian drew himself up straight, “And I put it to the side. I will not ask anyone to devote themselves to such a marriage.”

“But it is already her fate to be in a loveless marriage Sebastian! At least with you I can be relatively assured of her fair treatment, both in the marriage and in the court of Starkhaven!” She paused, looking at him slyly and he braced himself for whatever she might wish to fire in her next volley. “And consider this carefully Prince Sebastian. You have thrown the support of Starkhaven behind the regent of Kirkwall to call this landsmeet and require Ostwick to be your third. My husband, though inclined to support the landsmeet is not so inclined to support your reasons. War is not something he relishes because it interrupts the business of acquiring more wealth and instead insists on the spending of it. This marriage would assure his support.”

Sebastian suddenly felt very cornered because he could not argue the logic behind her. Rather than try he pleaded for time, to consider the proposal before committing to an answer. The fact he had stopped arguing and had not outright refused gave Dagena enough hope to agree to it and they completed their walk in silence. Indeed Sebastian was quiet enough during the completion of the outing that Baldovin took note of it and wondered at its cause.

* * *

Sebastian had long ago lost track of the time as he lay staring at the ceiling of his bedchamber. Dagena was a shrewd and determined woman. When he had returned he had found a leather packet on his bed, filled with accounts of the misdeeds of the man the teyrn intended to marry his niece to.

Apparently he was just one generation removed from outright piracy, his father having literally purchased a title when he had ‘loaned’ the teyrn’s father money enough to repair the docks of Ostwick after a storm had ravaged them. His estates were several hours to the northeast though like a great many of the monied he kept a house inside Ostwick as well. His holdings when his father had been given them were small but with judicious use of money he’d obviously earned dishonestly he had managed to expand a small holding on the outskirts of Ostwick’s territories into a large and profitable estate. And his heir had simply continued the tradition.

Along with other traditions of a less savory nature. Among the documents were accounts, some first hand, of barbarity. Of homes burned and of torture. Of women disappearing never to be seen again and others returning barely alive and sometimes barely recognizable. It would seem this man considered himself above all law and the teyrn was looking the other way because of the income Ostwick received in taxes and favors from him. He was even considering a marriage to strengthen the bond between the two houses. The teyrn was, in Sebastian’s opinion, quite mad to want such as those included in his bloodline, no matter the promises of wealth. Friendship with a snake was never assured, only the possibility of a peaceful cohabitation so long as the reptile remained well fed.

But these were not his lands nor these his people and he had no just cause to question the teyrn in his own holdings, especially not when they so desperately needed his good will. Spring was very nearly upon them now and if there was to be a landsmeet then it must be called soon – they had no time to find another potential ally. But if what Dagena said were true, then even with the calling of a landsmeet they could not be assured of Ostwick’s support once there and that was needed at least as much. Even with Starkhaven’s not inconsequential leverage there were no guarantees of success, even with Ostwick and Kirkwall firmly behind it. _Any_ advantage was needed.

Groaning and sitting, throwing the covers off him Sebastian sat rubbing his face with frustration. Hawke had handed him a pretty penny this time and it was likely to cost him far more than either of them had anticipated because he couldn’t find a way around Dagena’s logic. The stakes were frankly far too high for him to simply brush her off and his conscience far too tender to simply turn away from the facts as they had been laid out for him. The young lady introduced to him simply as Celsa was far too timidly natured to ever survive the marriage her uncle had planned for her and her estates, which would with her vows become those of her husband, were far too valuable to be seen in the hands of a man who quite possibly still had criminal ties. It was unconscionable.

Finally he went to a desk and sat, trying to decide how best to compose the missives he felt obligated to.

* * *

Aveline watched from the comfort of a couch as Sebastian paced. Glancing at Baldovin where he stood she saw he was also aware of the prince’s untamed energy. Rarely had she seen him like this, even in the day. Sebastian had always been very self contained and very self aware but at the moment he appeared neither. In fact he almost appeared… nervous and had been this way since returning from some mysterious errand earlier – one that had seen him order Baldovin behind. That hadn’t gone over very well with his guard captain and Aveline sympathized but she had long ago accepted that men of power rarely considered the feelings of subordinates once they had their dander up over something. And Sebastian obviously did.

When there was a polite rapping on the door Sebastian himself pulled it open, totally ignoring protocol and earning a sour look from Baldovin. After accepting the missive from the teyrn’s own retainer Sebastian nodded politely and closing the door, staring at the waxed seal, still warm and tacky almost as if it were something about to bite him for some long moments. When Baldovin made to ask, Sebastian silenced him with a distractedly raised hand before popping the seal and reading the contents. Sighing heavily he suddenly leaned back against the door, his head laid back against the wood and his eyes focused somewhere on the ceiling.

It was done. Maker help him.

Baldovin watched it all close and could not help the feeling that something was very wrong. His prince looked like an animal caged, more so than ever he had before and it made him suddenly wary. What was happening outside his view? When finally Sebastian looked at him, he could see a sad weariness in the prince’s face.

“You will be the first to know,” he finally sighed sadly, “That I am to be married in the fall.”

“What?” Aveline gasped, standing to stare at him as though he were some imposter.

“Please,” Sebastian sighed, indicating that they should all sit with a wave of the parchment in his hand, “Let me explain.”

* * *

It had been a hastily arranged celebration, one to announce the marriage of the Lady Celsa, Duchess of Mayweather to Prince Sebastian of Starkhaven. Even with several days to digest it still sat heavy in Baldovin’s gut. Sebastian had always been forthright in his view of his ever marrying, saying that he would never do it because of his vows. To know that he was sacrificing not only his word but also himself at the altar for the sake of their success just made it all that much harder to swallow. Sebastian had insisted that the match was advantageous for Starkhaven and that in of itself would negate the rest but there had to be more to it than Sebastian was telling him. There had been plenty of advantageous matches proposed to him over the years that he had refused. And in the end whether or not Ostwick backed a saber rattling at the landsmeet just could not justify this decision for Baldovin. The others seemed to accept it, though Carver had argued that expecting Sebastian to bow to an arranged marriage simply for their cause was asking too much. Sebastian had very blithely informed him that it was already done and could not be undone without serious consequence and Carver had diplomatically given way to the logic even if it was obvious he disapproved.

No one could disapprove of his choice though – the Lady Celsa was quite a beauty. Young and healthy by any standard, she cut quite the picture dressed in the finest the tyrna could afford for her as she sat next to Sebastian. Her honeyed hair braided intricately in the fashion of Orlais, she seemed as uncomfortable as did Sebastian at all the attention, blue eyes darting around in a confused daze. Sebastian had done his best to attend to her, to try calming the fear that she all but radiated at the knowledge that this was to be her fate – to forever be in the light of true royalty and not simply the wife of a Duke, probably left behind on the estates to entertain herself as she saw fit and only noticed when it was his wish. Looking at her Baldovin couldn’t help the decision she was sure to be a virgin and likely to remain that way, forced into a life of chastity by Sebastian’s vows, possibly without even the comfort of belief to soften the blow. He wondered if she knew.

The night seemed interminable to him but finally the Lady Celsa had begged off, claiming fatigue and headache as excuse and Sebastian had made his own exit soon thereafter. But not before asking the steward that more wine be delivered to his apartment, and after several cups he had explained that Baldovin was to remain in Ostwick. Baldovin’s back had straightened at that but before he could argue the prince had set the matter to rest when he explained that he must remain to see to Sebastian’s interests because the prince had no one else that he trusted. He was to see to the arrangements for getting Sebastian’s fiancée delivered to Kirkwall and beyond that, once the weather in the mountains broke, see her delivered to Starkhaven. Sebastian himself could not do either and be available for the landsmeet. And meeting the prince’s eye, Baldovin could not refuse him, even as a friend. The sad weariness he saw made the idea of what would essentially be the first time he had been separated from his liege in all the years of his service smart like salt in a wound but he knew it was the same for Sebastian and he had not made this decision lightly – any of it.

“Promise me,” Sebastian had insisted after both men were well into their cups, both staring into the fire and ignoring the disapproving clucks Aveline delivered from her doorway, “That you will treat her kindly Baldovin. None of this is her doing and none of it is her fault but she will suffer the consequences none-the-less.”

Baldovin had thought that over in his head a few moments before shooting a sly look out of the corner of his eye and leaning over to butt his shoulder against Sebastian’s. “She is to be your wife my lord and I will love her the same as I love you because of it. Besides, she will bring a breath of fresh air to your apartments in Starkhaven though I am sure she will swoon when she sees how they have suffered without the light touch of a woman.” He had paused as Sebastian chuckled, tipping his head in agreement before taking another drink from his cup. “I will protect her with my life my prince, same as I protect you and I will fail neither of you if it is within my power to prevent it.”

The look they had shared at that was one few people had the opportunity to see and Aveline recognized it from her vantage leaned against her doorframe. The bond of friendship between these two men was one that might be gained once in a lifetime but there were plenty that never attained it. It was a bond she shared with Hawke, one that time and distance would never weaken. Sighing, she closed her door and left them to their cups, thinking it a shame that it took the power of circumstance and alcohol to bring it out in men.

* * *

A strident knocking at the apartment door woke Aveline and brows drawn she threw the covers away. By the sound of them this was not the first volley and not likely to be the last so snagging a robe from where it hung over the open door of a wardrobe, she pulled at her door. Baldovin was laid along one of the couches, at some point having taken off his steel he was still wearing the padded jerkin and heavy leather breeches that went under it and snoring with a vigor and volume that told Aveline he was passed out and probably completely incapable of hearing the insistent pounding only feet from where he lay. Shaking her head and clucking disapprovingly she shrugged into the robe and pulled the door open just enough to see who it was that wished an audience this late at night without completely showing off her disheveled state.

It was a guard that blinked back at her, hand raised as he prepared to again assault the wooden door. Quickly regaining his footing he dropped his hand and stood straight at attention, actively not looking at the woman that peered out at him for fear of offense. He was, Aveline noted, quite young and looked quite flustered by something and she doubted her appearance accounted for all of it.

“Pardon Serah,” he finally stammered, “I apologize for waking you so late, but we have a bit of a problem.”

“Who exactly is we?” Aveline asked directly, deciding that using the inflection and tone that marked her command would perhaps settle him, “And what problem?”

“The Prince m’lady,” he finally turned to look at her when she immediately pulled the door more fully open. He didn’t seem to notice her dress or lack thereof anymore now that he was actually fulfilling his commission. “He’s down at the royal stables and quite….”

“Drunk.”

The young man blinked at her directness before nodding. “My captain sent me to find someone to come see to him. He said ‘better it be one of their people’ if you pardon me Serah. I think he’s afraid of giving offense.”

At that moment Baldovin chose to shift position and the new one made for even more volume to his nocturnal symphony. Rolling her eyes, knowing that the prince’s guard would be of no use to anyone in the state he was in, Aveline nodded. Trying to ignore how the guard’s eyes tried seeing around her to the source of the racket, she tipped her head. “I’ll go. Give me a moment to dress.”

“But Serah, I’m not sure you were what he had in mind….”

“Look junior,” Aveline smiled even as her voice dropped and her tone hardened. “I am Guard Captain of the Kirkwall City Guards - I am _exactly_ who he had in mind. So _wait here_ while I make myself at least presentable and _I_ will see to the problem.” Pausing a moment for effect, taking in the look of horror on the young man’s face as he realized _he_ was the one thathad given offense, she finally ended with a lightly spoken, “Understood?”

He nodded emphatically and for just a moment she was a little ashamed at herself but she shook it off as she shut the door. He had to learn sometime.

It wasn’t long before her nervous escort was leading her along a maze of cobblestone paved paths that the night and limited light of torches made confusing to a compound where all the horses were kept. The royal stables were segregated by steed, the more conventionally sized kept in one stable, the ponies kept in another. Several well fed dogs and surprisingly a few goats wandered around the yard that separated them and standing near the door to the pony stables were two guards and one nervous looking groom.

“I beg your pardon m’lady,” one stepped forward as he saw them coming, “I sent him after the prince’s guard…”

“Sir Baldovin is feeling unwell,” Aveline interrupted deliberately, “So I came in his stead.”

“Sorry Messere but she’s the Kirkwall Captain of the Guard,” the young man promptly volunteered, maybe seeking to spare his superior the same embarrassment he himself had suffered. “Since no one else was available….”

“He wisely brought me.” Aveline again interrupted, looking past the armored men to the groom. “What exactly is he up to?”

“Well I wouldn’t know,” the groom stammered, wringing his hands. “He ordered me out! And being a prince I couldn’t rightly refuse now could I?”

Aveline could plainly see that he was no one of authority even within the stables, most likely the least senior to be assigned to watch the stables overnight and was nervous to be the center of attention this way. He had probably even hesitated to call the guards considering the rank of the man who had ordered him out of his own barn. Completely ignoring the others Aveline stepped to him, laying a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Be easy,” she reassured him gently, “Prince Sebastian is a lover of horses and would do nothing to cause them any distress, even given his condition. I’ll see to him but I can’t guarantee that I can convince him to leave.  At least not right away. So go on about your duties.”

“Right then,” the man who apparently was in charge grunted rudely, “We will leave you to it.” Pausing a moment he looked at the young guard who had brought her. “You can stay here and help her keep an eye.”

Aveline considered protesting but decided it wasn’t worth it. Instead she simply told him to stay as he was and leaving both he and the groom staring after her, she followed the light that spilled from the open door of the barn. Sebastian was standing leaned against a post set centered in the wide hall that ran the center of the stable. He wasn’t paying any attention to anything really, just staring off at the high ceiling with a look she couldn’t quite identify on his face.

“Sebastian….”

His eyes snapped down to her when her voice, echoing just a bit in the cavernous space, reached him. He didn’t say or do anything for a few moments, just looked at her with that expression she couldn’t quite place. Finally he seemed to come free from whatever it was that had him in its pall and he pushed away from the post, smiling with a wide enthusiasm that was obviously fueled by the contents of the bottle he held in his hand.

“I came to look them over,” Sebastian chuckled, waving an unsteady hand to indicate the entire of the pony stables. “Apparently I am to be given my choice as part of the Lady Celsa’s dowry. Breeding stock bribery for breeding stock.”

“Sebastian!” Aveline barely had time to gasp at his crudity before Sebastian drunkenly recounted.

“Ah that was not fair was it?” He sighed with the exaggerated contriteness that only alcohol could induce and began wandering unsteadily away from Aveline, leaving her to follow him as he glanced into the stalls at their small occupants. “She shouldn’t be considered so but that is the truth of arranged marriages among nobles – they are selling their daughters to whomever will gain them most advantage and that will never be completely assured until there is a child. I always accepted the practice but frankly I’ve never much approved.” He suddenly stopped, shooting an enigmatic look at Aveline as he suddenly leaned back against the door to a stall, ignoring the curious whinny its occupant issued. “Did you know that my parents had a marriage arranged for me? After they had me locked away in the Chantry? I think they were hoping that marriage would settle me when it became clear the Starkhaven Chantry had failed. I ruined those notions when I left Starkhaven with Elthina for Kirkwall against their wishes. That was me, forever an embarrassment to them and not one ever thought to wonder why.”

Aveline cocked her head, keeping her silence and letting a raised eyebrow be her answer.

“Ah yes, I ruined a fine girl’s notions of one day being a princess. And what girl doesn’t dream such dreams? She jokes about it,” he chuckled, “But now she is happily married with a house full of children. Sometimes I think about it and it makes me just a little sad.”

“Why?”

Sebastian looked at her a long time without reply, finally taking a long sip from the bottle in his hand before replying, “Because she is a good woman and by leaving I missed my chance to be Baldovin’s brother in reality. It was his oldest sister I was promised to.” Twitching in surprise he turned to see the pony nipping at his breeches through the slats of the stall door. Looking closer he smiled widely and pointed. “Now this one I know I want. Maker and I are already fast friends are we not?” When the pony whinnied, pawing the ground now that the little stallion knew he had Sebastian’s attention, he laughed aloud and Aveline was surprised at the simple joy in that sound. Sebastian had found something in the situation that gave him some comfort. “I am told you have a mind of your own little man, and that is something to be respected. Always be proud but always be careful of it because pride will trip you, and sometimes the fall is a long one indeed.”

Aveline got the sneaking suspicion that he was talking more to himself than to the pony but decided not to pursue it, instead asking quietly, “Maker?”

“Ah now that is a story, but for lack of the knowledge of his proper name that is what I dubbed him,” he smirked. “It was suggested to me and I saw no harm in entertaining the notions of a lovely young lady, little knowing she was soon to be my fiancée. And now so far as I am concerned Maker is the only name he will ever have, especially if they are both to be mine.”

“I am not sure Andraste would approve,” Aveline chuckled, “But then I think she approves of little that goes on in this world so what is one small tweak at the Chantry?”

“Indeed,” Sebastian smiled widely. “Considering all my other sins this one will barely be a footnote when I am called to account.”

“You are not an evil man Sebastian,” Aveline sighed as she watched him try to unlatch the door to Maker’s stall. “I believe any stains you have will be easily forgiven.”

“Think so?” he sighed when the latch defeated him and Aveline had to undo it for him. Before she could step away he leaned over and caught her chin so that he could brush his lips across her cheek. Smirking a little when her color immediately went high, he replied with exaggerated lightness, “I thank you for that.”

Slipping loose of him Aveline stepped back, pulling the stall door open as she did and he disappeared into the stall, leaving her to wonder just what all that had meant. For a seemingly simple man he could when he chose be quite complicated, especially when into his cups. When he found a brush someone had squirreled in a corner and started brushing the small horse, Aveline sighed and leaned against the stall door. Horses were a rarity in Kirkwall, few seeing a need to keep them in a city of steps unless they had pressing need to travel but Sebastian had always kept one, and frequently when he couldn’t be found in the Chantry you could bet he was in the stables, often as not doing exactly this. Equines seemed to sooth him and apparently size meant little. Perhaps here was a good place for him at the moment and being with his short friend would do him good. Sighing Aveline wandered several stalls, looking over their doors, amazed that some of these small creatures existed. She had seen dogs bigger than some of them, even granting those dogs had been enormous examples of their species.

Finally she settled, sitting on a rough hewn bench worn completely smooth from years of use and leaned back with her legs stretched, stared at the high vaulted ceiling over her head.

* * *

“Messere.”

Aveline resisted, tired and sore she didn’t wish to wake up. Twitching her shoulder away from the hand that was shaking gently at her and wondering where her pillow had gone, she mumbled, “Go away Julyan.”

“Guard Captain!”

The sharp tone made her eyes snap open and she found herself looking into the face of someone she did not immediately know. Snapping one hand up she batted his hand away and glared at him until finally her brain kicked in and she realized it was the guard that had been left to keep tabs on her and the prince. And she wasn’t in her bed in the prince’s apartments; instead she was in the royal stables. Cursing under her breath at Sebastian, her injuries and his part in her acquiring them in the first place she came off the bench and to her feet.

“What’s he done?”

“He’s ordered the groom to bring him a saddle,” the young guard replied hurriedly, “He’s of a mind to take a ride.”

“What?” Aveline sighed heavily, “In the middle of the night?”

“Apparently so,” he replied, watching as Aveline took in the open stall door where last she had seen Sebastian. “He’s out in the yard. I told the groom to take his time so as I could wake you.”

“Good man,” Aveline shot over her shoulder as she made for the door. Apparently it had taken the guard a few tries to rouse her because the groom was standing off Maker’s flank, wringing his hands with a look that begged her fix this so he wouldn’t find himself fired come morning as Sebastian finished cinching the saddle. “Sebastian!”

He shot a bleary look over his shoulder at her and smiled. He was, she noted, significantly drunker than he had been. That would take far more than the half bottle of wine he had been carrying and she wondered just where he’d gotten it.

“Aveline!” he enthused, “Come join me!”

“I think not,” she complained, taking the reins and shooting a stubborn look at the prince. “No one is going anywhere.”

“Ah but I wasn’t going to go far!” Sebastian protested dramatically, “Just to the ends of Thedas and back.”

“Sebastian you cannot run from your problems,” Aveline returned sternly, “And you certainly can’t do it on the back of a stolen royal pony!”

“Who says?”

“I do!”

Sebastian snorted rudely, ignoring how the raised voices and sudden sounds made Maker twitch.

“ _I_ am a prince I will have you know,” he retorted, “ _I_ can do as I please.”

“Not likely,” Aveline replied after a pause to rein in her own temper, “ _I_ have the authority to arrest you, even as a prince.”

“In Kirkwall maybe,” Sebastian laughed, suddenly amused. “But this is Ostwick!”

“Sebastian,” Aveline sighed, “Do not make me strike you.”

Sebastian considered that a moment and decided she might just try it. “You,” he pointed at her unsteadily, “Are no fun you know that?”

“I have been told.”

That seemed to strike him as funny because he threw back his head and laughed. Shaking her head Aveline held Maker’s reins out to the groom, trying to ignore the abject thankfulness that washed across his face as he went to take them from her. Sebastian was faster. Snatching them from her he vaulted into the saddle with far more grace than she ever would have credited him considering his state and before she could react Maker was off.

One thing that no one had considered in this drama was Maker and his feelings about the situation. He was no warhorse used to rough treatment, nor even a common steed acquainted with the noise and commotion of the streets. He was a pony of good breeding – royalty if you would and used to being coddled and treated as such.  But he also had a wide stretch of wild pony still in his bloodline, deliberately put there so that the undesirable traits common to inbreeding would not crop up and that gave him a willful temper all his own when it suited him.

And it suited him now.

He followed Sebastian’s instruction for all of ten steps, long enough for Aveline to shout after them and the groom to wince because he recognized the way Maker kept his head low. After that he reared but Sebastian was ready for him - even drunk he had read Maker’s intentions and kept himself seated. He was however, unprepared for what the little demon had in mind next because Maker had the kind of canniness of his wild brethren. Dropping from the rear, he immediately threw his head lower and bucked his back legs high into the air as he twisted to the left. Sebastian probably would have had no time to adjust had he been sober but so far into his cups he never stood a chance and he was flung from the saddle, well over Maker’s head to land with all the grace and good breeding of a side of fresh meat. Aveline gaped at just how high this little horse had managed to sling the prince, enough so that he had plenty of time to protest before striking the ground.

“Maker,” he shouted as he came unseated, finishing with “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo…” as he flew through the air. When his objection ended in a harsh ‘oof’ as he landed heavy on his back and didn’t move, Aveline came unfrozen and raced to his side.

“Sebastian!” Hitting her knees and skidding to a stop next to him in the loose sandy soil, a mental mantra of ‘oh sweet Andraste he’s dead isn’t he?’ echoing inside her head, she almost sobbed when after a few eternally long heartbeats he gasped, sucking in as much air as his already abused lungs could take. Gaping at him a moment as he began to cough and wheeze Aveline was suddenly more annoyed that she could ever remember being with another human being without a weapon in her hand. This man had managed in the span of a few short days to get her involved in a bar fight that, according to Julyan anyway and who knew if you could trust the word of a Crow, very nearly cost her life, and now, not content with his own injuries and bruises, was doing his stalwart best to try and get his own fool neck broken! Without thinking about it she drew back and punched the prone prince smack in the jaw.

“You _ass_!” she hissed, “You conceited, pampered, self-pitying _ass_! If you _ever_ scare me like that again I’ll personally see you in _chains_!”

“Ow!” Sebastian groaned as he rolled away from her should she get the notion to do it again.

“And if I _ever_ see you with a bottle in your hand again,” she ground out, ignoring him now in favor of watching as the groom tried his best to catch Sebastian’s victorious foe and failing miserably as Maker had decided he’d had enough of them all right at the moment, “I will throw you in a cell _no_ _questions_ _asked_. I’ve had just about _all_ I’m going to take, from _all_ of you, do you _hear_ me?”

“Yes Serah,” Sebastian half coughed, half groaned as he tried to pull himself up to sitting but decided half way that it wasn’t worth the pain, “Loud and clear Guard Captain!”

Pulling herself to her feet she looked down at him for a long time and realized he was going to be sporting a fancy bruise at his chin from her. That made at least some of the night’s adventures worth it because she’d wanted to take a whack at someone ever since she’d woke up with that Crow hanging over her. Deciding that yes, she did feel better now that she had just gone ahead and thrown a tantrum, she started to think about what had just happened and realized that it wasn’t just funny, it was downright hysterical. Before she could think to stop it or even decide if she really wanted to try, she started laughing. When Sebastian peered up at her, brows drawn as he tried to decide just what it was that she found so amusing in his situation, she found herself laughing so hard she had to wrap an arm around her stomach and work hard at keeping her balance. Muscles that already ached began to firmly protest this treatment but still the mental image of Sebastian flying through the air kept her going.

“Oh shut up Aveline,” Sebastian finally sniped in annoyance, “And help me up would you?”

“Not by anything holy am I helping you sire,” she chuckled, fanning herself and doing her best to regain a sense of control. “You figured out a way to land yourself in the dirt, you can damn well pick yourself up and dust yourself off!” With that she marched over to join the groom, who had realized that he wasn’t going to be catching Maker any time soon and decided to be happy that the pony seemed content to stay in the courtyard.

Sebastian watched her go for a moment and decided she was probably right. And not just about the pony either, about her assessment of him as well. He was conceited, pampered and had done nothing much since arriving in Kirkwall but pity himself - the situations here in Ostwick had just brought it to a head. Lifting his head a little and banging it down again, he winced when he realized that hurt more than it should and that meant he was probably going to have a nice goose egg  soon enough. Maker but was he glad Elthina wasn’t here to see him now. Not that she would have a lot to say but her disapproving silences tended to be far louder than they had any right to be. Groaning and closing his eyes, rubbing his forehead as he tried to push back the bleariness he’d worked so hard to achieve, it took a moment for the feathery light touches of something against the back of his hand to register in his brain. Looking up past it he had to blink a few times before his sodden head could make sense of what he was seeing because this was not a perspective he was accustomed to. It was Maker, worrying the back of his hand with his lips. Smiling, Sebastian slowly reached up, stopping midway when Maker yanked his head up, not entirely sure he trusted this man not to try something. But when Sebastian didn’t move Maker decided that must mean he was not such a bad sort after all and he brought his head back down to sniff and twitch his lips along Sebastian’s forehead.

“Ah at least someone still cares,” Sebastian sighed as he laid his hand against the pony’s muzzle. “I’m glad you forgive me little fellow. I’m an idiot, thanks for reminding me.”


	58. Chapter 58

It had taken some work but Hawke had convinced Fenris to return to the sparing grounds. He had spent more than a few days fairly aimless, either following behind her or sitting alone in their apartment. When he was with her he was almost normal and she doubted anyone else noticed the broodiness that had descended over him since he tended towards standoffishness to begin with. He claimed to be reading when he stayed behind but Hawke had her doubts – more likely his brooding those days changed subject and he was considering his situation. They had gotten word from Vicenzo that the diplomatic mission to Ostwick was a success and that they would be returning as soon as it would be seemly and Fenris had been remarkably quiet since. Hawke found herself wanting to hover but knew she wouldn’t be thanked for it. So instead she watched from a distance, only venturing inside these defenses when invited and that tended to only be at night and she was never quite sure what he would do then. 

Some nights he wanted to talk and had told her stories of his life as they snuggled together against the late winter chill. Not all were tragic and sometimes she was amazed at the often confused way he seemed to view Danarius. His deep anger with the man was obvious but there were moments when she could hear respect, even occasionally affection in his voice when he spoke of him. She supposed it was a testament to the very distinct relationship that the two had shared. From his words she gathered that Fenris was the only person that Danarius had ever really trusted, even after his stint in Seheron had turned him defiant, and that Fenris had felt much the same. For all his cruelty Fenris could count on Danarius to react exactly this way to any given situation and that knowledge had been something of a blanket he’d used to protect himself, even in disobedience.

The hardest parts for her were when Fenris decided to tell her about his life before Seheron, before that taste of freedom and friendship had hardened his heart to his situation completely. In his own words he told her how he had been mindlessly obedient, how he had simply accepted his fate and simply had not cared. It was something that the physical pain of his situation had done for him – his lyrium’s burning, Danarius’s casual cruelty, even Hadriana’s jaded exploitations were forever reminders that he was nothing more than a thing to be used and put away. There were several paths open to men in his situation – some would harden their hearts, even learn to revel in their subjugation, some would break and lose even themselves and become the servile dog their masters desired. Fenris had found a common ground somehow and had never managed to lose his sense of himself for all the abuse heaped upon his head.

It was in the silence after he had fallen asleep – the only time she really had to devote to simply thinking that it started to make sense to her – why Danarius had gone to such lengths to keep Fenris forever attached to him, forever isolated even from the other slaves inside his own home. She had never quite understood it but now she could see Danarius had understood that Fenris would never entirely break. And even if he had not precisely explained what happened she could see exactly what Seheron had done to Fenris. He had found himself among people who didn’t view him with fear and Fenris had come to trust them, to feel comfortable in their world and had begun to believe that maybe, just maybe he had a place away from Danarius. That was what Danarius had been avoiding - this knowledge that not everyone expected total obedience and that it was possible for Fenris to make decisions on his own. And that still green and tender knowledge had burned Fenris when Danarius had returned. What happened had razed that new growth to the ground but it hadn’t killed the roots nor had Danarius managed to stamp it out with his deliberate torture. Why? Because once again someone had treated Fenris gently - with kindness and respect that really he had no right or reason to expect and that he could in no way return. But that hadn’t been the point had it? 

Hawke made a vow to herself that one way or the other, she was going to find Era. Kindness might be its own reward but….

She had always understood that in a great many ways she had become a replacement for Danarius but this situation had pounded it home for her that Fenris, for all his austere desires was an extremely complicated man with one very simple aspiration – to protect anything he considered his - because the last time he had failed.  
Then suddenly he turned ardent, constantly touching her as if the reassure himself that she was indeed still there and that her feelings had not changed. He had never allowed himself the comfort of physical contact, had truly looked uncomfortable with it when she would do something as simple as laying a hand on his shoulder and it had taken leaving Seheron, months spent watching her single-mindedly worrying herself into a state to make him shrug that off. But even so he never laid a tender finger on her unless they were alone and not unless he saw good reason. Now she would return to their rooms to find him waiting and often he wouldn’t say anything, just lock her in an embrace that he would then be loath to break. Often she would feel him tremble against her but he didn’t volunteer a reason and she didn’t push, instead allowing him whatever it was he felt he needed. Those nights had often ended desperately, with him making love to her with an urgency that she knew was because he was considering the impending return of Knight-Commander Cullen and envisioning the worst. In his heart he was seeing the day he would be led away and she would wake alone- the knowledge that he was dead a weight in her soul and even her most fervently whispered assurances as he lay spent inside her could not change his mind. She was but one person against the masses for all her sway, and in his mind she couldn’t save him. Not from himself, and that was what it amounted to.

But she refused to give up on this and had approached Truss, determined to get the entire story and knowing she would not get it from Hassrath. And the choice had netted her an unexpected boon – Truss had also decided to try and find a way out for Fenris, unwilling to see the elf die for his deed. His time spent with the guards was paying off in some unexpected ways and soon the conspiracy included the Vistana and Kirill as well. Vistana because for what they had in mind they would need the weight of her support when it came time for Fenris’s confession and Kirill because with him following behind her everywhere there was no way to truly hide what was going on.  
They did not tell Fenris, much as it pained Hawke to do it. She knew he wouldn’t approve and if given the time to consider would refuse. He had taken too many hits from too many directions and had been unprepared for most of them - it slid him down a slippery slope. He was determined to view his situation in black and white – he had done something wrong and he should be punished accordingly. He was every day making his peace with that and angry as it made her she kept her calm. Instead she just kept whispering assurances that it would be all right, that he was not going to die and finally adding that if he did he would not die alone. 

That had made him angry and he raged that she would willingly lay her life down for something she had not done. It was an anger that far outstripped its cause but she had not backed down from it, standing toe to toe with him arguing her point as he shouted his. The fight had raged for hours but finally he just said it, admitting in the heat of the moment just what it was that frightened him to the point of anger – that if he knew her life to be forfeit along with his own he would not have the courage to face it. The fight had ended when she stepped up to him and ground out a fervent “good.” At first he had looked at her as if she had struck him and all he really wanted was to just lie down but she wasn’t having it. Before he could turn away she pushed him as hard as she could, cornering him against a wall and kissing him with a passion that he could not ignore. Soon she was the one trapped against the wall as he tore at her clothes, desperate to have her and unwilling to wait. His aggression reassured her and as he lifted her off the floor and thrust himself into her. 

She whispered, “If you won’t fight for yourself then fight for me because I will not let you die, not alone and not in this way.”

He had not answered her.

It had been the next day that he had silently returned to his teaching without prompt from Hawke. And again, she took comfort in it as she watched him go, the Templar Kirill had arranged at his heel because it had been weeks since he had ventured out of the apartments without being at her back. After a long look shared with Fenris’s nephew, she sighed and looked away. Kirill, like every Templar she’d ever met, saw a great deal and though she hadn’t shared Fenris’s state of mind with the others it was plain he had it figured out. She wondered if he had told his mother. When he laid a light hand on her shoulder she found herself looking into blue eyes that for once were unguarded and soft and she knew then he hadn’t, that he had made no report to anyone even though it was his duty to keep his superiors apprised. And then it was gone, replaced with the studiously neutral look that in Hawke’s experience all men who knew their jobs might mean their life kept while duty called. With just a hint of a smile, he tipped his head to indicate that they should be on their way.

Hassrath had also returned but Fenris kept a discreet distance, unwilling to test the waters just yet. Truss, forever cocky despite some hard lessons to the opposite, had no such issues. Sidling up next to where the Tal Vashoth stood watching the elf on the other side of the arena, Truss stood in silence next to him for a long while. Hassrath had acknowledged his presence with a grunt but had said nothing else and Truss took some comfort in the fact that he had even deigned that. Even with the tension between the two the silence had been a comfortable one and Truss was loathed to break it but knew that he had to. He still wasn’t entirely sure what to say to the Tal Vashoth so decided to just go with his gut.

“You do understand that it is very possible that he might be put to death, right?”

Hassrath didn’t say anything, just turned an impossible-to-read look down on him.

“Doesn’t that make you uncomfortable? That he did what he did for you, and you only asked for me?” Truss sighed, turning his gaze back at Fenris. “It makes me damn uncomfortable to know it.”

Because he wasn’t looking he didn’t see the flicker of emotion that ran across Hassrath’s face, indefinable as it was. Hassrath simply did not understand this… protectiveness of knowledge. That it would be viewed in such a way that only the few could have it and share it. This Chantry and its rules….

“And it’s very likely that had he stolen a chant anywhere else in all the world, even from the Grand Cathedral, his punishment would be less. But he didn’t, he stole one from Kirkwall where feelings still run high where our religion is concerned.” Truss paused to look up at Hassrath who had gone back to studying Fenris. “Even should the Grand Cleric absolve him he would be hunted on the streets by common men and he knows this. He has to. Knew that what he was doing could end with his head on the block but he did it anyway. You ever ask yourself why?” Hassrath didn’t comment and Truss hadn’t really expected him to so he just finished on a heavy sigh. “I do.”

Hassrath was silent for a long time, even going so far as to correct the stances of several men while he considered what Truss had said.

“I do not understand,” he finally admitted grudgingly. “Why is this book so important when others of its kind are not?”

“All chants are important Hassrath,” Truss finally replied, not looking up at Hassrath, instead folding his arms across this chest and looking out over the field, “Every one of them. Did you notice that ours is handwritten? They all are. We have had the ability to print books for decades now but you will never find a chant created in that way because the Chantry believes that the act of copying the chant is a due owed to the Maker; that the time and energy and knowledge and ability to do so are gifts given by the Maker. Some scribes will spend their entire lives working on just one copy, and should they die before the copy is complete no one else will take it up. That makes each copy exceedingly precious and rare. The one that Fenris stole was more so on both counts for one important reason.”  
When Truss fell silent, Hassrath turned to look at him and found the younger man looking back, an expression Hassrath could not quite define on his face.  
“The chant Fenris stole was the only chant that survived the destruction of the Chantry by the mad apostate Anders. It survived because it was here, in the Gallows and by the Maker’s grace the fighting that day never entered the chapel. That chant belongs to the Templars and was kept here for both Templars and mages alike. And once the smoke had cleared and the few surviving members of our Chantry were assembled, it was our chant that was used to comfort the city - the whole city, not just nobility or Templars or mages – everyone. It was that copy that all other copies that exist, in whatever state of completion, inside the rebuilt Chantry were born from.” Truss tipped his head, one eyebrow cocked inquisitively. “Did your Arishok not go to extreme lengths for a book similarly thought of? Did he not sit here for years, ear to the ground because he knew that book was here, he need only find it? And did he not nearly raze this city in an attempt to not only ‘save’ it in his view but in doing so possibly unearth that which had kept him prisoner here?” 

Hassrath grunted, surprised at the boy’s candor. No, he thought to himself, not a boy. Truss had at some point grown in this situation and that this conversation was even happening was proof of it, Hassrath realized that now. It was true that other copies of the Tome of Koslun existed, a great many of them in fact. But the one that the basra had stolen had special meaning because it was the first, the one all others had been created from and because of this the Qunari had been willing to go to any lengths to retrieve it, even deigning to send a member of its highest order on what would to the basra look to be an errand to accept its return. Like some gift when in fact it was not any ‘gift’. This he could understand and he nodded curtly that he did.

“That book, simple as it is, and believe me some chants are illuminated and gilded in gold, means more to this city than even the actual Chantry does. Because it is a symbol of our ability to save ourselves, even from ourselves – Hawke saw to that. She was elevated to viscount within a week of the day the Chantry was destroyed and she took that chant into the Keep, put it on a dais in the throne room and had the throne removed. For years that was our Chantry and for years it was that worn and simple book that made it so.” Truss let his arms drop, the hand of his sword arm landing on the sword that Hassrath had helped him forge. “The truth is if it should come out that I had any part in what happened – before, during or after - I am also likely to be censured, possibly thrown out of the Templars. I have taken vows, not only to guard and protect mages but to guard and protect the Chantry as well. By knowingly keeping that book and keeping my silence I made myself an accomplice to his crime. Frankly I do not want to imagine it because I am a knight and because of that already addicted to lyrium, but I did it willingly because I understood why you asked him to in the first place and at least partially understand his willingness to do it. I think the rest was a surprised to him and he’s found himself caught by it.”

Hassrath sighed and it was a heavy sound because now he was beginning to understand the fervent reaction to Fenris’s actions, even if he was still unsure of Fenris’s reasons. To believe Hawke it was because Fenris put loyalty above everything, even self-preservation and somewhere along the way Fenris had, at least in his own mind, pledged that loyalty to Hassrath. He looked at Truss a moment, mulling something the young man had said.

“You say you understand why he did it,” he finally asked, “Tell me why.”

“Because you asked him to,” Truss sighed. “You are his friend, probably one of the only ones he has ever had in his entire life and he doesn’t strike me as the type to give respect easily, much less friendship. I suspect it’s something some people couldn’t earn if they spent their entire lives trying.”

Hassrath nodded, thinking it an odd feeling. He had lived a life comfortable in the knowledge that those around him would happily die at his side if that was what was asked of them but never had he had someone willing to put their life on the line for him and do it in the name of friendship. That was not the way of the Qun and not something that would ever be considered. 

“I do not know that I really understand,” Hassrath finally conceded, “Even now, why he did such a thing. I would not have allowed it if I had known.”  
“That’s the point I think,” Truss sighed. “He probably knew that and did it anyway. Maybe it’s something about being a slave for so long, I don’t know. I don’t claim to understand it all Hassrath, I certainly don’t entirely understand him. You know that I never felt that I was more than an annoyance to him? He all but bullied me into keeping quiet about the chant at first, throwing how he had stuck his neck out when he was not of a habit to ever do that in my face? But I think the first place he came after he told you was my room. And when he saw that you had been there already and had been less than pleased with me he was the one that sat there trying to comfort me? Sat there I don’t know how long until I fell asleep? I’m sure he had other places to be but he stayed all the same. And he was the one that came to me to apologize for what he called his ignorance? If I am such an annoyance why would he bother, right? I don’t understand it.”

“Because you are an annoyance,” Hassrath snorted lightly, “Or at least you were - maybe not so much now and that is why it is hard for you to understand. You are different Truss, perhaps grown some for this experience and perhaps in his eyes more worthy of the respect you claim he doesn’t give out lightly. It is hard sometimes to see a difference inside yourself.”

Truss stood blinking, a little stunned at the almost casual observation Hassrath had just tossed at him and unsure how to take it. So he decided to keep his peace and just take it like it was handed out – a compliment of sorts. A long silence fell between them, one in which most of the tension between them was gone but it was finally Hassrath that broke it.

“I do not know how to help him,” he finally admitted. “He broke not only taboos but laws as well to procure that book. I can’t help but view it in that light because I was Ben Hassrath and that was what we did - hunted those that broke taboos and laws and saw to their punishment. But it bothers me that it was done in my name, for a great many reasons and not the least of which is where I come from that sullies my reputation as well as his. It also bothers me, this claim of his friendship from Hawke and now you as well. Because Hawke insists that to him his friends mean more to him than his own life, that he elevates them to the same status he formally gave only to the man that owned him - who abused him in, I suspect, more ways than just decorating him in lyrium. I am uncomfortable knowing I have this… power over him.” He sighed and looked down at Truss a moment, allowing the younger man to see just how sad the situation made him. “I do not wish to be viewed in the same light as a magister mad with his arcane knowledge and power. I am not that man. I do not own him and I do not own his loyalty. I do not want anyone putting their lives in the balance just for me - there are far loftier reasons for it.”

“Not to him,” Truss remarked with no small irony. “His goals I think are simpler – to adapt, to learn, to survive and protect those things most dear to him and see to their happiness, even at the expense of his own. And he’s learning but in some things not fast enough. And you’re right, you don’t own him or the right to expect that kind of loyalty - he gave it to you, free of charge. And even knowing how unhappy you are about it, he’s still giving it to you.” Truss stopped suddenly and Hassrath watched as a sudden recognition dawned on his face. “He gave it to you because in his mind it is all he has to give! Don’t you see Hassrath? He was a slave, he had nothing of his own, not even the right to govern his own body because everything belonged to someone else. And for the most part he still doesn’t. He has no job, no profession. He follows Hawke out of the same loyalty and gains nothing from it but her company. He still feels like a slave, with nothing to give.”

Hassrath regarded the shorter man a moment before grunting and looking back towards Fenris. He found the elf looking back, a guarded expression on his face that matched his own. It was Fenris that looked away first and that spoke volumes to the Tal Vashoth. It told him that Truss was very likely right. Sighing, he clapped a heavy hand on Truss’s shoulder.

“If you know any way that I might help that will not brush too hard against principles I refuse to turn loose of? Please tell me. I have no wish to see him dead.”

When Truss smiled broadly, Hassrath almost decided he regretted those words because it was obvious that he indeed had something in mind.

“Come with me,” Truss held a hand out to indicate that Hassrath should follow him, “I think it’s time you met the First Enchantress of Kirkwall. I don’t think anyone has ever actually introduced the two of you yet.”

Hassrath snorted, thinking he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be introduced to any mage that held so lofty a position, even one that governed inside what was in effect his home for the moment. But he followed anyway and Hawke, who stood shadowed in one of the many hallways watching, smiled at Kirill. The young templar had been right to suggest sending Truss to try and win Hassrath to their cause it would seem and he smiled back. Now it was up to Vistana to convince Hassrath that what they had in mind - while not strictly moral or legal - had rewards of its own beyond even saving the life of a friend.

For his part Fenris felt many eyes on him, most were curious but a few had far more weight and he watched from the corner of his eye as Truss approached Hassrath. One thing the young Templar had in his arsenal was more than a goodly share of nerve and this time it seemed to pan out because soon he was engaged in conversation with the larger man. It fast became obvious to Fenris he was the topic of conversation and that irritated something inside him. He neither wanted nor needed an advocate but there was little to be done about it. To his mind actions should always speak with far greater force than words ever could and much as it chafed, he still felt a pang of gratitude that they were forging the gulf he had accidentally created between them even if it was his pride they used to do it. Still, he had to admit when the two of them left together, not only did he feel more comfortable in their absence, he also felt envy.

===================================================================================== 

Fantin found himself unaccountably restless and it annoyed him because he well understood the cause. He had over the years become a far more settled man than he had been in his youth. Even when his duties called him to travel there were some things that could be taken for granted and one of those was that someone would be there, usually taking care of the fiddly details of existence. In recent years that someone following loyally behind him was his son and Fantin felt his absence despite himself. There had been no way around it though, Vicenzo’s presence had been needed far more greatly in Kirkwall and judging from the reports that he was receiving, it had been a good thing he had been left to make arrangements and keep tabs on those left behind.

While it was true that Crows tended to view familial ties with a certain disdain, even treating lovers as a means to an end and marriage, if it should happen at all, as a way to garner more power or prestige to their brotherhood, Fantin had been rather fond of the woman that had presented both Vicenzo and Masina to him. That she too had been a Crow had settled their fate and much like the children that Fantin had in the past found himself responsible for acquiring, once they had reached a certain age they both had been tossed into the care of one of the training houses. That they had both survived it was a testament to their breeding and although his relationship with their mother had long ago withered, Fantin had taken interest in both their son and daughter, finding ways to pull them both under his wing.

Sighing and setting the book he had been trying unsuccessfully to find interest in aside, he glanced about the small and crudely furnished cabin he found himself captive of for several days now thoughtfully. Truly this excursion to Ostwick had been entertaining, watching for the most part silently as politicians danced politely amongst themselves in a game of chess that Fantin found both fascinating and boring at the same time. The one real amusement these procedures had given him were the tense looks among the teyrn’s advisors every time Fantin had been called upon to delve into the proceedings instead of sitting in silence – everyone there knew his position and standing. The teyrn himself was far too savvy to show his true feelings at having a Crow of such high rank sitting pleasantly at his table, sleeping peacefully under his roof.

No, the real entertainment had come from sources outside those chambers, outside his sight if not outside his notice. Princes causing bar fights over wenches and seemingly improbable marriages arranged in secret – the last of which Fantin knew from the network of Crows entrenched inside Ostwick’s borders would cause the teyrn no end of troubles since the young lady in question had all but been promised to a man of mean temper. Ostwick would be remembering this visit from Kirkwall and Starkhaven for some years to come it would seem and Fantin, always a cautious man, had left orders that the situations created by these sometimes impetuous people he found himself traveling with carefully watched. It simply would not do for some impulsive and hot blooded knave, having had a possible new toy that came with no small amount of influence suddenly taken away, to decide to do some injury (either political or physical) to the man whose alliance was so keenly needed at this stage of the game. It certainly would not do for something untoward to happen to either Sebastian’s newly appointed fiancée or the captain of his guard and fast friend either. At the least that would cause no end of tension and Prince Sebastian’s prideful rage at such a slight could conceivably set Starkhaven itself on Ostwick.

Fantin chuckled dryly to himself as he found his feet, having at some point deciding subconsciously that a stroll along the deck of the Siren’s Call was in order. Baldovin Mald, proud descendant of old nobility and both captain of the personal royal guard and close advisor to Prince Sebastian, might think that he was responsible for the health and welfare of the Lady Celsa but case in fact it was the same Crows that he distrusted and disliked that were seeing to both their safety and that amused Fantin on a great number of levels.

For all the sometimes subtle entertainments of this trip Fantin was glad to be at sea, traveling back to the rather dilapidated mansion he now owned in the fair Hightown of Kirkwall. He was looking forward to seeing just how the games being played there would pan out and to the preparations for the landsmeet, to be called in late spring, probably in Starkhaven herself since she was more centrally located and had the means to support such a gathering of political might. There hadn’t been such a gathering in several generations and there would be more than a few that would bring old rivalries and hard feelings with them as companions.

As he pushed through the door to the deck, a voice carried to him from the night shrouded poop deck above his head, one he well recognized as the ship’s lovely captain and he realized that she not only had taken a watch, as was sometimes her want, but that she had a company as well. Pushing the door silently closed, he leaned against the wall next to it, confident that he blended nicely with the shadows that obscured the details of the deck.

“Why then did you agree to this arrangement if a chaste marriage disturbs you that much?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” was the gruff reply and Fantin knew her attendant to be none other than the aforementioned prince. “I made a promise to myself a long time ago not to do this.”

“Considering your position that promise was a bit of pride don’t you think?”

“And what of it?” Sebastian retorted, “I may be an heir to a throne that has no other but circumstances change. There is still the possibility that Goran may be moved to a second marriage.”

“Indeed circumstances do change,” Isabela replied lightly, “Especially among you noble types. I know you honor your vows to the church above very nearly everything but have you ever thought that maybe you are not made for such things? Not only politically but personally as well?” There was a long silence that plainly stated the privateer had hit a nerve. “I see that it has.”

“Don’t sound like you are the great sage, Isabela,” Sebastian sighed, “I am a man, no better or worse than any other when it comes to these matters for all my dignity and position. I have often considered that maybe my vows were made out of misguided loyalty to a woman who showed me kindness when no one else had even a soft word for me. That my love for Elthina moved me to things unfit for my character – even she cautioned against it at the time! And the most painful part of these doubts is that I know in my heart that she would forgive me even now if I were to turn my back on them, that she would understand.”

“Then what exactly is it that keeps you so tightly bound to these words? Is it honor? Or pride? Or is it simply habit? If what happened in Ostwick is any indication it is painful for you to be this way.”

“Painful?” Sebastian barked in a suddenly harsh tone, “You have no idea! Most of my life has been one exercise in pain after another! From my parents benignly ignoring me in favor of my brothers, to their disapproval even if I incurred that justly upon myself, to having them murdered – murdered mind you - before I had the chance to redeem myself and finding I was helpless to do anything about it except hire someone else to exact what little revenge could be had! Again and again, throughout the course of my life I have continually had what little comfort I have ever managed to find torn away and in the end it seems that the only thing left me was my faith. And at the very foundation of that faith is my belief that no matter how hard the Maker might test me I will not crumble, I will not falter! Can you understand that? Can you conceive of it?”

“I can,” Isabela relied calmly in the face of Sebastian’s heat, “I most definitely can. I am not so different as you think Sebastian, I just worship at altars different from your own.”  
A silence fell and Fantin idly wondered what sort of face Sebastian carried right at that moment – was it angry and appalled that Isabela dared to compare herself to him or was it surprised and possibly accepting that truth was truth, and that in the end the real reason for living was to find those moments of comfort in the storm, whatever they might be. For all his reputation there were parts of Sebastian that lost warmth long ago, maybe not killed off but certainly wounded mightily by the events of his life and so far he had refused any real opportunity to allow them to heal. At this point he might never fully recover but it really didn’t matter in the long run because no matter what, his faith would never allow him to be anything else than a good and just man. Though Fantin had long ago accepted that these were things he himself would never be because his own faith didn’t allow it, in a way he envied Sebastian. His way would always be in the light where Fantin’s would forever be overcast by a mantle of obscurity. Shaking his head and realizing suddenly that Sebastian’s own tantrum had painfully pointed out the reasons for his own restlessness, Fantin decided to abandon his eavesdropping and return to his room.  
Reflection may have a purpose and place in the light, but it had no business in a heart purposely as dark as his own.

=====================================================================================

Kirill stood on the high rampart looking out at the unsettled Waking Sea. Though the sky was clear and the moon high, the white capped waves crashing against the shores far below could be heard even at this high vantage and spoke of uncertain weather in the future. Perhaps the sea herself was aware that the climate of the land she brushed against with such constant fondness, forever and continually changing its character and countenance, was also changing. 

Then again, perhaps not. 

Unlike the affairs of men the affections of water to stone was nothing if not simple because in the end, no matter how industriously the sea worked it there would always be more land to be had and no matter how resolutely the terrain stood against it, there would always be a sea to caress it into submission. An unchanging relationship of constant and persistent change and on a scale that put the petty concerns of creatures that ran or swam or flew into perspective and one that Kirill had come to appreciate since coming to the Gallows. It never failed to calm any uncertainties inside him and it was this view that drew him whenever he found himself questioning.

He wasn’t a fervent Andrastian – surprisingly few among the Templars were considering they were a religious organization. Not that any lack would prevent any of them from doing whatever duty the church might set before them because being Templar was more than just being a devotee to the principals the church espoused. It was a brotherhood that went beyond high minded belief because theirs was a more pragmatic view - daily they risked everything to maintain peace. It was one of the reasons few among them married, even beyond the mundane difficulties that familial ties would create. It wasn’t forbidden, simply discouraged because in the end no one would truly understand except for another Templar. 

These were realities that, although he indeed found comfort in the Chant, drew him here to a view of more concrete proof of the same doctrine. 

“I see the view calls to you as well.”

Kirill started, so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t heard the approach of a man in full armor behind him. Turning he bowed his head politely.

“Indeed each view, day or night, is inspiring in its own way Sir Truss.”

“Please,” Truss waved a gauntleted hand at the lower ranking elf, “We are both seriously contemplating bending or breaking ideals that we have sworn to protect. I think we can dispense with formalities now.” Truss paused to look thoughtfully at the elf who, after nodding his acquiescence had turned to look silently out at the night again. Truss had always believed he was an interesting little fellow – few elves even attempted to join the ranks of the Templars and fewer still survived this long. Most who tried were simply trying to escape the misery of the Alienages and when they realized that acceptance inside the order for his kind would never be complete they gave up, taking whatever skills they had acquired in the attempt to use in some other endeavor. That this one elf had persisted so long said a lot – especially about Knight-Commander Cullen. “You should come to the sparring grounds and learn from your uncle. He has much to teach.”

Kirill shot an ambiguous look at Truss, wondering at his motives.

“I am assigned to Lady Hawke and her schedule is a busy one,” he finally allowed. “I have no time for it.”

“I’m sure if you asked she would understand,” Truss grunted. He had little experience with Hawke until recently. She seemed fervent in her affections for Fenris, determined to see him escape his own folly unharmed if not unscathed – surely that care would extend to his family as well. She was a woman after all.

Kirill was silent for a long time, looking at the reflection of the moon as the unresolved waves broke it apart and scattered it along the surface before finally admitting softly, “I do not know how to approach him.”

“He’s a man same as you or I,” Truss chuckled, again studying Kirill’s profile in the low light of the night for a moment before sighing. “But I do understand what you mean. He’s very… contained isn’t he? You can never quite read what he’s thinking. Even so, he isn’t a man to fear without good cause and I think it would do the both of you good.” Clapping a hand to the other man’s shoulder, Truss straightened from the stone rampart he had been leaning against. “I am on watch tonight so I need to get back but think about it. We’ve known each other for a good while now and you know I’m not trying to bully you.”

Kirill didn’t reply, didn’t turn. Instead he listened to the clank and scrape of Truss’s armor until the shadows swallowed even that, steadily staring out over an unsettled sea and thinking his own heart wasn’t so very different.

=====================================================================================

Varania sat staring out one of the windows across the room from the couch she sat on. Her quarters were larger than most mages, and in a lot of cases Templars as well, because her position as the First Enchanter’s assistant had earned her a certain trust from her Templar guards. With trust came rewards as Vistana liked to say but in her heart Varania had never been entirely sure of that. Having the affections of Cullen surely had as much to do with that ‘trust’ as anything. 

It had been Cullen who had discovered her hidden inside a crate delivered to the Gallows, one in which she had hidden in desperation to escape slavers. Her intention had not really been to escape Tevinter, instead simply to escape a past that had painfully intruded on a hard-won present but before she could slip away the crate had been loaded on a ship. Fearing the reception a stowaway elf would receive she had chosen to remain where she was and hope for the best. Although a great many of her fellow Tevinters would argue differently the best was probably exactly what had happened. The Circle might not be perfect, especially in the beginning when the Knight-Commander had been Meredith Stannard, but it afforded her a safety that, as an elf she had never known before and offered her the training that had been refused her in Tevinter.

From the day that he had pulled her, emaciated from hunger and dehydration from that crate that had been delivered to him, Cullen had treated her gently. She was sure it drew him criticism, especially at first when it was established that she was indeed a mage and conditions in the Gallows were so harsh, even for Templars sometimes, but still he had persisted. Even now she had no idea if it was pity that had moved him to it but over time she had come to finally understand his feelings even though he was not free to voice them. Their positions were too different and his was far too easily destroyed should it become known.   
“And,” she whispered softly to herself, looking down at a small carving of wood in her hand, one she had put away long ago and until recently had not looked at, “My own feelings are too muddled.” 

It was enough, she often told herself in the dark of the night that he watched over her and her son, a child though not his own he had happily adopted and given the protection of his position and titles. It was enough….


End file.
